


Wise Or Naked In, Secret OCtober

by Pink_and_Velvet



Series: Hold Tight, Onto Daddy’s Bracelets [17]
Category: Duran Duran
Genre: 80s Throwback, 80s aesthetic, A/B/O verse, Alternate Universe, Arts And Crafts Gone Wrong, Baby Body, Baby Nigel, Big sister, Birthday, Birthday Presents, Birthday Sex, Birthdays, Boats and Ships, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Cocaine, Comfort blanket, Concerts, Dancing, F/M, Falling In Love, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fic Challenge, Fights, First Class, First day at school, Flights, Fluff, Future Fic, Gen, Glitter, Growing Up, Hold Tight Onto Daddy’s Bracelet Series, Idiots in Love, Loneliness, M/M, Memories, Mile High Club, Mirrors, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mummy Questions, Music Videos - Freeform, Newborn, October, Parenthood, Photoshoots, Power Station, Princesses, Random Prompts, Retro, Reunion, Revenge, Roses, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Sharing Clothes, Tickle Fights, Valentines, children crying, cuddly toys, cute and cuddly, i do what i do, name games, photo albums, post-natal depression, soft, supermodels, tooth fairy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 25,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26751784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/pseuds/Pink_and_Velvet
Summary: A series of prompts for myHold Tight Onto Daddy’s Braceletsseries, for each day in October. Lots of JoSi and Baby Barbarella content, written in a number of timeframes and POVs, to come!!Or, my Secret OCtober 2020 challenge for the OC month. 💖
Relationships: John Taylor (Duran Duran)/Original Female Character(s), Simon Le Bon/John Taylor (Duran Duran), Simon Le Bon/Original Female Character(s), Simon Le Bon/Yasmin Le Bon, Yasmin Le Bon/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Hold Tight, Onto Daddy’s Bracelets [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1573288
Comments: 109
Kudos: 19





	1. The Music’s Between Us

**Author's Note:**

> These prompts will make a lot more sense with prior reading of fics in this series, though it is not required.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The audience erupted, the lights were up and there they were: all five of them, shining. Too many Taylors to count.

**Prompt Day 1:** Sunrise

_Astronaut Tour, 2004_

Taking cautious steps, she tried to stabilise her breathing, keep calm for their sake. They had All just left, taking separate routes to the stage; excitement pooling between them. Within moments she was running, dashing about the dressing rooms, laughing as she ran straight into a stage hand; before strutting straight up to those metal steps.

Securing her place at the side of the stage, VIP pass clipped so lovingly to her leather jeans, Barbarella couldn’t help but gape. The show was barely in swing, smoke stirring round her feet and the lights ready to blind. The audience were stirring, waiting and waiting. Daring, just _daring_ them to make an entrance. To bring them out of the darkness. Pulses were soaring, breaths were deepening as she caught sight of him: right in the middle of the unlit stage, microphone in hand, with a shaky exhale.

There was a nod in the other direction, she could make out that silhouette anywhere. Time to bring them into the light, she squealed. Everything is born again.

_Five, six, seven, eight!_

**_Now the time has come, the music’s between us._ **

****

The audience erupted, the lights were up and there they were: all five of them, shining. Her dad was as spritely as ever, though this was a new level of high. A stage high, Barbarella had never seen from Simon. Not until the reunion began, back in 2001. No wonder why, she had never seen him so animated, so full of joy. So at _home_.

Reaching up for the sunrise, touching it, feeling the new day as it did more than simply enter Simon’s life. There they all were, all _five_ of them. Mum was right there with him, plucking wild at his bass strings, smiling and grinning like a loon: soaking up the thousands screaming his name. Stupid blonde mop glistening all around him, a newfound halo Barbarella had always known to have been there. Feeling the new day, entering Mummy John’s life.

They were finally, after so many strenuous years apart and away from the main stage, from the spotlight: there they were, the _Fab Five_ her birth had marked the end off, back together again. Right where they belonged. Too many Taylors to count, shredding wild with pulsing beats. Screaming pure power.

Mum was first to look her way, closest to her at the left side of dad on stage. John’s wink was ever so cheeky, his smile ever so broad. Barbarella’s heart was in her throat, she matched that _cheeky cheeky Nigel_ grin with one of her own; a true spitting image, heart now soaring. Snapping a picture, she caught John, a saucy silhouette that was backed by the stark blue lights. Bass in hand, bobbing slightly, exactly where Barbarella wanted him.

The music’s between them, her parents were sure to snog each other any moment, always during _Sunrise_. Always. Barbarella wouldn’t have had it any other way.


	2. Nobody’s Keeping Baby In The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another fight. Another white lie waiting to be told to a child.

**Prompt Day 2:** Mercy  
  


_John’s Knightsbridge Place, August 1989_

A clang, a crash, Barbarella was shaken from her sleep. Snuggled up tight in her blankets, the crashes were getting closer and closer. Voices were rising, screaming their way up the stairs. With a frown, a grumble, she slipped from the sheets and felt the chill, bare feet hitting the carpet. Carefully, she crept out of the door, hearing the voices growing and growing. Messy, cloudy.

Stumbling down the stairs, she crept and crept; peeking her tiny head round the corner of the bannister. She could see straight into the hallway, bodies were moving and blurring together. Crouching near the bottom step, she found herself trying to stifle the cries. Little breaths were shaky, she ran her hands up her legs as she bought her knees under her chin. Rocking slowly, the four year old reminded herself of those voices. Those familiar screams, those unforgettable cries.

The same fight, over and over. Mummy was drinking again and Daddy wasn’t having it. Mummy was doing back things in his room again and Daddy was done fighting it.

She shoved her hands over to her ears, burying her teary face in her knees. Fading blonde hair rumpled, pig tails dropping out; she was shaking as those voices were growing louder and more pained. Strained, forceful. The fight was intensifying, she could see the signs.

She may only be four but she could see the signs. They’d try to hide things from her, wait until she falls asleep. Creep around the issue, bury the problems. Every thing was right as rain, the sun was shining and they were running hand in hand through meadows… Barbarella knew there was no such thing as the _truth,_ here.

What neither Simon nor John would know is that she’d be hearing the same fight for years until they stopped trying to save whatever it was they still thought they had. They’d show each other no mercy, Barbarella would only become more aware of it. Naturally intuitive, inquisitive, she couldn’t be kept in the dark forever. No child can, no child should be.

Though for now, rocking back and forth and back and forth, Barbarella stifled cry after cry; she was done using Leonard’s golden fur to mop up those tears. Then back up the stairs she crept, slinking back into bed with the door shut behind her. Shutting out Mummy and Daddy’s fight, things getting smashed and hearts getting broken: forcing herself back to a fitful sleep.

As always, Leonard The Lion was right there with her; soothing her through the loneliest of lonely nightmares. She cuddled him tighter and tighter, tiny fingertips weaving their way through his precious golden mane.


	3. Nigel, 1960

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Simon go through his baby photo album; like Simon used to in 1980, before they saw the last of Nigel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERSSS ALL ROUND

**Prompt Day 3:** Youth

 **Pairing:** John/Simon

_South Of France, 2001_

“Whatcha doing?”

“Christ, Charley!” John threw his head up, slamming the book shut. “Aren’t you meant to be with Ands, writing?!”

He’d been pawing over an old album for a while now, John was probably stuck to the sofa, shirt unbuttoned and limbs sinew.

“Yes, make it quick! And good Lord, put away that chest hair!”

“‘Eh!” John cackled. “What’s _wrong_ with my chest hair?!”

Simon poorly averted his gaze, laughing through his words. “There’s just so damn much of it now!”

“Charming!”

“Yeah whatever, I vaguely remember you _smooth_. Whatcha holding there, John?”

With a sigh, then a nervous giggle; John slid the book over. Fingers not quite daring enough to let it go.

“A photo… wait, is this?!” Simon perked up, John watched him as those steely blues ran all over the inscription.

_Nigel, 1960_

“Wow! I haven’t seen this since, oh I don’t know, 1980? At your old place?”

“When?!”

There was a cheeky grin, a waggle of frosty blonde brows. “Nick knew your place inside out, he knew where all the albums were. Jean never minded us going through them!”

“ _Bollocks,_ when?! Where was I?!”

The front man simply swiped at his nose, a twenty year old _secret_. Of course it was.

Though his gaze was bleary, he met that of his front man; before Simon yanked the precious album from him. With a giggle, he jumped in beside John on the sofa and splayed the album out before them both, embarrassment flushing deeper and deeper on the bassist’s face. As Simon’s fingertips inched ever closer to the sepia toned edges, the water stains, the faded but in no means tattered - once baby blue bow woven lovingly into the binder. As Simon’s fingertips opened the photo album, memories (though of course he was too little to recall any of them) captured with care; savoured and savoured, were now laying atop of the table.

John clung to Simon’s ‘ooh’s’ and ‘ahh’s’… Simon had been telling him for decades that _Nigel was such a cutie, it’s a shame what happened._ And John would always shoot back something vaguely resembling an _oi, you git! I’m still cute!_ He’d be left wondering what Simon really meant by the ‘shameful ways’ Nigel lost himself. How John lost Nigel.

“Awww, Johnny!”

Those rhythmical tones shook him out of his daze, being beckoned into Simon’s open arm.

“ _Don’t cry for yesterday,_ John.” He was reminded.

Together they stared deeply into the bouncing baby boy’s wide eyes, gleaming against the teeny white crocheted hat as it caught the sunlight. Likely squealing over something, excitement painting his little bemused face. There little Nigel sat in his pram, bouncy as ever. Or John, depending on how you decided to look at it, or John... in John’s first sports car.

“Isn’t that the—”

“— _Wild Boys_ one, yeah. He, uh, _I,_ ” John corrected himself with a chuckle, “baby me was on the screen, ‘member? Mum insisted to choose that photo, how right she was!”

“Your first _Aston Martin,_ huh?” There was a snigger, “I was a little… _tied up_ that shoot, Johnny. I missed a lot of stuff that happened in between being strapped to a water wheel and all.”

John choked on air.

“Getting a good shag atop of the car and all…”

“Good God, Simon!” The memories were still stark clear, tattooed straight into his mind. “Let’s not relive that now, y’know?!”

With another cackle, “ _sure_ thing John.” The tension lay thick, the notion of such a video shoot was running naked through John’s mind. “If it means anything, you – Nigel, were a super cute baby.”

John found himself flushing deeper, head now resting atop of Simon’s strong shoulder. His newly adopted frosted hair was painting the singer’s neck, almost the exact icy shade of Simon’s own locks.

“It’s crazy how time flies, huh? In ya forties?” John babbled, eyes glazing over as Simon turned the album’s page.

“Tell me about it!” He giggled, ogling over another photo of baby Nigel, crawling over to his mother Jean. “Christ; look how young she looks. So _youthful_.”

John straightened up at that, realising he had been staring a little too hard at the golden ring on Simon’s hand. Sparkling, glistening in its own worthy spotlight as his fingertips languidly trailed precious photo after photo.

“Yeah, Mum’s always been stunning, you know?”

John shifted so they were side by side now, knees touching. Simon met his soft grin with one of his own, John sighing happily as he was bought in for a hug. Cherished photo album still within the front man’s reach.


	4. Glitter In Places The Glitter Won’t Shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since when did glitter wage war between Mother and Daughter?

**Prompt Day 4:** Ambush

_Los Angeles, Autumn 1993_

“Pick up… pick up the damn expensive ass phone call you di— Charley, hey!”

“It’s late… the hell do you want?”

“Is Yasmin there, I have a, uh, Mummy Question.”

“Ugh God, hang on.”

…

“The things I do for you, John, we’re already half asleep ‘ere…”

“Shut the hell up and pass the phone too—”

“—Hello, John?”

“Hey Yas! I uh, just quick, I need your advice on—”

“— You better make it quick! I have a job first thing!”

“Sure yeah, uh, so. Uh, y’know when… uh, when…”

“Yes…?”

“What do you do if, when a… Christ, a bunch of eight year olds girls decide to scream the place down and paint you with pink glitter?”

“What?! Are you for real?”

“Yeah Yas, I got _ambushed_ by the kids. My hands are covered in this PVA bullshit and glitter, tissue paper… Barbie tried to tie me up with tissue paper!”

“Seems that she likes tying you up, huh? Another thing she inherited from daddy!”

“… Fuck off!”

“Now now, John, I’ll put the phone down if you don’t behave—”

“—No, shit, wait. Yasmin, keep it from Charley will you? I’ll never ‘ear the end off— hey! What did I just bleedin’ say?”

“… No apologies John.”

…

“John? John, Charley wants to know if there’s _glitter in places where the glitter won’t shine._ ”

…

“JT!”

“Fuck, yeah! So much glitter! How do I, you know, control so many seven year old girls!”

“Thought they were _eight?”_

“Oh, whatever Yas!”

“Theres a big difference between seven and eight year old girls, John.”

“There, y’know… there is?”

“… Beats me, Johnny.”

“Crap Charley, put her back on the phone!... good, okay. Yasmin, what the bleedin’ hell did I get myself into here?!”

“It is what it is, John. Become a human doodle, an art piece, hang yourself in the frame. Be sure to take lots of photos!”

“What kinda crappy advice is—”

“— There best be a macaroni necklace in there for Simon!”

“Fuck, I ‘ave about six of those now, alright?!”

“Awww, tell Barbie we say hey and always more glitter!”

“What?!”

“You heard her John, always more glitter!”

“Y’know I can picture those bloody jazz hands, Simon… Simon? Hey… _hey!_ Oh har har, just slam down the phone, Charley, thanks! Christ. … _Barbarella!_ When I get this damn glue off of me hands the glitter best be _gone!_ ”


	5. Snuggling With Their Beloved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon was knocked out cold with a special little someone dozing softly, atop his golden tan chest.

**Prompt Day 5:** Beloved

 **Pairing:** John/Simon

_Simon’s Place, Early August 1986_

John was deep into yelling at Simon over where he had placed the new baby grows, needing one ‘right bloody now,’ milk bottle in hand when…

“Oh my!”

He cut himself off with a small giggle, a wry smile forming. John surveyed the scene, heart thudding wild in his chest; eyes raking all over Simon, who by the looks of things was knocked out cold on the sofa. He was snoring softly, John feeling more at ease as he watched the slow rises and falls of the singer’s toned chest. With a little special someone dozing atop of his golden chest, teeny fists balled and up besides her head. Resting right atop of Simon’s beating heart, pulse surely matching his own.

John swallowed down a small cry, though couldn’t quite blink away the tears welling up in his eyes. Happy tears, tears of joy. Carefully, he crept about Simon’s grand living room, on his tip toes – hoping he wouldn’t wake them. Simon’s huge hand was laying limp, half hanging off of the arm rest; John debated kissing those knuckles.

He dropped to his knees, placing the milk bottle on the coffee table behind him. He shuffled forward, spinning around so now his back was pressed up against the sofa, carefully he took hold of Simon’s open palm. Kissing his knuckles, John bought Simon’s arm around himself as he leant into the embrace. Hands running across the familiar leopard print shirt, John lolled his head back with a sigh.

John bought his knees up, grinning to himself as he felt Simon begin to stir behind him. Without word John arose to his feet, smiling as those beautiful bright blue eyes fluttered open.

“C’mere,” Simon breathed, trying to shuffle aside.

Carefully, not wanting to disturb their daughter in her dreamland, John slid in besides Simon; knocking his forehead in the process. Breathlessly laughing as he did so. Simon’s eyelids were heavy, though he did giggle further as John fumbled to get into position.

Snuggling with his beloved, John shuffled in as close as he could get. He splayed his body out in full, their legs tangling; as John sent Simon back into his own la la land with droopy kisses feathered about his cheek. Down to his neck, hands on his chest, hands running though his gleaming blonde hair. John was chuckling softly into the singer’s ear, feeling him stir once more.

“N-no luv, save it till the morning after…” John breathed, limbs sinew and eyes falling closed. “G’night, Charley.”

John slept soundly, nose delightfully smushed into Simon’s neck and a hand wrapped round his chain. His supportive, ever so familiar, golden tiger chain that really did belong around his beloved’s neck. That really did belong in John’s palm.


	6. The Ruby Slippers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a special, luxury birthday gift on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major spoilers here!

**Prompt Day 6:** Luxury

_London, June 2001_

“Diana, darling, I have something for you.”

Throwing her head up from being nose deep in her Weimar Germany history textbook, Diana gave the supermodel a lopsided smile.

“You know at times, Mum 2.0, I genuinely have to stop and think _who_ you’re talking too!” She giggled, the name change of her early teens was still hard for the clan to get used too. Of ’97, right after the princess’s tragic death.

John never used her middle name, as ironic as it may seem.

Yasmin was stood before her, her girls by her side, clutching a present. She recognised by the balloons on the wrapping paper that it was for her birthday, cocking a brow she rose to standing.

“But it’s July tomorrow, my birthday isn’t for another two weeks.”

With a soft chuckle, Yasmin pushed the present into her hands; French tips grazing the edges of the box carefully. Diana fingered the glimmering red silken bow, with a wry smile.

“Charley’s orders. You need time to… _break_ them, you know what I mean!” With a hand on her shoulder, Yasmin lead Diana to the living room table, surrounded by her daughters; all eager for her to open it.

“Uh, alright!” She was skeptical, running her smooth fingertip under the paper: peeling it away with a gasp. “Is it from the both of them? Or just Simon?”

To reveal another layer of wrapping paper.

“Oh crap!” _Dad!_

“From John too, sweetie! You know they both wish they could be here for your birthday, for your dance recital too.”

“Saying _recital,_ makes me sound about five Mum 2.0!” Diana chuckled as Yasmin’s own laugh filled her ears.

“Can it. Open it already, baby!”

Another five layers of random wrapping paper later – a definite Simon move, that was – Diana was finally faced with a slick cream box. Familiar branding, familiar description… she could’ve swallowed her chewing gum.

_Capezio,_ she could tell a mile off!

“Holy—” she cut herself off for Talulah’s sake. “Mother!”

Her hands were trembling as she was face to face with her gift, now understanding why Yasmin had been instructed to deliver it so early.

“They’re… they’re so beautiful!” _Damn do they both still have good taste!_

There was a cheeky glint in Yasmin’s eye, a knowing smirk forming on her angelic face.

Diana was holding a gorgeous, satin pair of ruby ballet slippers. They were pointes, with a block in the front she would need to wear in; or break down before she could perform in them. She couldn’t believe her luck when she had found out her next show weekend date: July 13th 2001\. She had a pointe solo, a stunning crimson red platter tutu with embroidered pattern work to wear.

And now, though she was sure she had her other Mother Yasmin to thank more so than John (the ‘girly’ stuff was more Yasmin’s cup of tea anyways), she had the perfect pair of shoes for the special show day.

It’s a shame neither of her parents could be there, writing and recording in France but she didn’t mind. What mattered most was that Yasmin would be coming, all the girls would be there cheering Diana on; watch her sparkle and shine under the blaring spotlight.

“Thank you so much, Yas!” She flung herself at the supermodel, tearing up a little on her satin-clad shoulder. “I’ve got to go and break them… and quickly!”

Pulling away with a choked off cry, she clutched the shoes tight.

A look of nervousness crossed Yasmin’s face, eyeing the shoes and ribbons that needed to be sown. “Two weeks is enough, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be alright. No worries, Yas. I better get sewing!”

She wasn’t the best at sewing ballet ribbons, there was an art to it that through all of her years of dance training; still baffled Diana at times.

“Allow me.” Yasmin winked. “I’ve done it enough times now!” She nodded to her daughters, provoking a small chuckle from Amber.

“They’re truly gorgeous, Di.” The eldest said, with a bright smile that was the direct copy of Yasmin’s. “You’ll look stunning as always.”

“You’re one to talk! They’re truly bloody _expensive,_ you mean.” Diana’s laughter rang out through the room, she was still in awe of what she was holding.

A luxury she had had a beady eye on for a while now; she couldn’t help but wonder just when Simon had noticed that. The cheeky look on Yasmin’s face said it all, her wink confirmed it. Saffron bringing a finger up to her lips resembling a ‘shush’ confirmed it further.

  
“Can I help you slam them in the door?!” Saffron, chirpy as ever, asked.

With a laugh, knowing exactly what she meant: “sure, you can _watch_ me slam them in a door frame! It’s a dangerous game, you know?!”

She really did have Yasmin to thank for such an incredible gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I figured the older Barbarella becomes the more likely she’ll think her name doesn’t fit her persona as much. She’s no Barbie Girl, in her Barbie world.
> 
> Honestly the release of the Aqua song is probably the last straw! That’s not to say she doesn’t still use or go by her first name. Professionally her middle name ‘Diana’ feels right. Also, in a somewhat weird tribute to Lady Diana too; as that’s who she was middle named after back in summer 85!


	7. When The Sun Drips Down Bedded Heavy Behind Dover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> En-route to another Father-Daughter bonding weekend in Calais.

**Prompt Day 7:** Cliff

  
_Dover, 1990_

Snuggling in close to her Dad’s warm frame, Barbarella couldn’t help but squeal merrily as the sun began to drip down, bedding heavy behind the bright White Cliffs Of Dover. The sky was painted in daring yellows and oranges, stark colours bleeding into each-other as the sunlight bid the two farewell for the night.

Barbarella shivered, Simon was quick to cradle her in his arms; cuddling her tighter and wrapping them both in the second picnic blanket.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it baby?” Simon was rocking her in his grip, chin resting on her teeny shoulder.

“Yes, Daddy!” She giggled, eyes squinting and she was shimmying in his grip.

Simon wasn’t sure what food was best for when the sun was waving goodbye. Barbarella had made the right choice, now nibbling away at the tortilla chips: thoroughly lost in the scene. It was a cheat weekend, he couldn’t help but treat her.

They were an incredible 350 feet off of the ground, not too close to the edge but close enough that they could witness the solemn sea lapping languidly at the shore. Softly pelting at the cliffs. The sea breeze ruffling both sets of blond mops. Barbarella shivered again, Simon was quick to run his arms around her petite frame, snuggling even closer in their blanket cocoon.

He sent a glance down, to their boat bobbing atop of the Channel. Another night and off they would go, sailing to France for a Father-Daughter bonding weekend in Calais. They hadn’t done this since _Drum_ in April ’86; an incredible time for the two Le Bons. Though this time, neither would be painted in bright colours, half hanging from the masts or dangling from the sails as they snapped picture after picture.

This time, Barbarella was old enough to run right to the side of the boat, tiny hands clinging tight to the side; wind tousling her fading blonde locks. Excitement painting her face, laughing flowing free.

Simon would be watching her, dangling from the masts himself; watching in amazement, as she fell in love with the sea more and more. Laughing like a loon, Barbarella would become ever so animated. So eager to learn, too eager to ride the waves.

Though for now, the sun having dropped down ever so far that the night sky was creeping upon them; they both were pointing at the stars, making wishes, laughing and giggling over the last of the tortilla chips. Snuggled tight in the picnic blankets, up close and breaths in sync. Atop of the infamous White Cliffs Of Dover, the two Le Bons were painting a scene ever so beautiful.


	8. I’m Lost In A Crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s only now beginning to settle in: just why John is here.

**Prompt Day 8:** Festival

_Los Angeles, Early 2000_

After much debate, John finally agreed to let his beloved out loose with her wild friends; sending them off to some grotty camp site for this new stupid 90s craze: a music _festival_.

John grumbled tirelessly to himself, this wasn’t how music was meant to go. You went to see the act you wanted to see, paid an arm and a leg to see, got crushed in the midst of the floor, were high and dry (bar the sweat) in an _arena_. Not camping out in the mud, fifteen different bands he’d never heard of playing for an hour in the pouring rain.

John grumbled painfully, now staying with her. He was surprised when she had changed her mind, letting her friends camp out on their own site. She’d much rather have stayed with her rockstar Mother, eyes wide in shock when John stated he wouldn’t have minded it. Or just wanted to keep an eye on her in case she hooked up. It was a new experience for them at the end of the day; why not go together?

It wasn’t until the second day that it finally started to click to the bassist.

Standing in the midst of a surprisingly older crowd of men and women, a few years younger than him; with their children… John’s heart was in his throat.

_Baby, you’re fucking kidding me!_

The band took to the stage, they were the headline act tonight, John was deafened by the screeches all around him. He hadn’t bothered to check the roster. Women, already soaked by the pouring rain, were falling all over themselves like they were fourteen again. Like they had just scored ground level access to the biggest band of the last decade again, like they had just seen him flick his once blonde fringe from his face; fainted when he bobbed his shoulders and sucked in his cheeks with force.

John couldn’t believe his eyes: there his band… no, no not his band, _he_ left _them_ to deal with his lonesome nightmares a year ago. His band… right there. Right there.

**_Dark inner city, night is a wire. Steam in the subway, earth is afire._ **

Simon. Right there.

He and his daughter weren’t right at the front, there was an ample distance between them and the stage. John prayed to his recently found divinity that neither Simon nor Warren nor… Gods, he couldn’t even say that final name. He prayed endlessly that none of this crucial three saw him. Saw them.

**_You’ve gone too far this time. And I’m dancing on the valentine._ **

Turning, he saw Diana screaming like mad, thoroughly wasted on her dad’s vocals. The sheer energy he bought to the performance, being pelted by the rain or not. The lights, the smoke round his feet; how vibrant he was song after song.

Then, cursing loudly, John caught sight of him. The new bassist they’d hired. Flawless fingers marking out _his_ basslines flawlessly.

**_I can’t read about it. Burns the skin from your eyes._ **

That was a sight that truly hurt him to witness, fingers tingling as his hands lay limp at his sides.

It was finally beginning to click, nearing the end of Careless Memories – _huh, they haven’t played that in yonks_ – into Friends Of Mine – _what?! We’ve never even… what the fuck?!_ – what was happening here. Diana was more than aware of who was on the roster, John was stupid enough to want to tag along like this was his scene. Like he was meant to be here, performing too.

_Who the fuck comes to a rock festival to hear Duran Duran?! Since when did Duran Duran play rock festivals?_

He was still silently fuming, straight through to what he knew would be the encore. It’s a shame he hadn’t been listening to what the old front man had said. It’s a shame he hadn’t noticed his beloved wasn’t beside him anymore.

Only when she called him, voice booming through several speakers and harsh mic feedback; did John even notice Diana wasn’t there.

“Barbie?!” He shrieked. He’d be having serious words with her that night, over her schemes.

She was dancing beside Simon, up front and centre. Rio was the finale track, always, Simon deserved to have his Rio (well, his first Rio girl) up there with him. Shining, showing him all that she can.

The crowd were in hysterics as Simon ‘sang’ the accompanying saxophone section, Rio truly sounded bizarre without Andy Hamilton beside them. Eyes were on him now too, Simon was calling him up. John didn’t budge, flushing with rage.

Diana was laughing harder, now grooving with Warren at his side of the stage. John sent a glare to the left side, _his_ side, he couldn’t dare to look back. At the keyboardist, he couldn’t mention his name.

_Twenty years is enough, Bates. Give it up._

That face had been like thunder till Diana graced the stage. John kept his eyes averted, barely able to keep them on Simon. Rio was drawing to a close, he hadn’t budged from his spot in the crowd.

_Smell like I sound, I’m lost in a crowd._

He’s no longer hungry like that wolf for the spotlight, the stage. The stage, the Duran stage. Sharing it four ways wasn’t right. _Neurotic Outsiders_ was over, _Terroristen_ was his life now.

Sharing it five ways with band mates come and gone, might be the only way he could make it back there. Shining beside Simon again, his front man in terms of his _music_ only.


	9. How To Make Him Come My Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Girl talk, of sorts.

**Prompt Day 9:** Mentor

 **Pairing:** Simon/Yasmin

_London, 2001_

“Dad, how did you get Mum to fall in love with you?”

Simon near spat out his tea. Chuckling, he reached for a napkin and beckoned Diana over. She shimmied in beside him, cramped in his armchair.

“That’s a bit straight forward now, isn’t it?! I have three days till I have to be back with the lads in France and you want to use that to talk… _relationships?_ Eww, gross!” Simon broke off with a giggle. Then, suddenly feeling a wave of guilt. “Which Mum?”

Sniggering, “mine! The one who some crazy how birthed me but also has a penis. You’ve got to explain that again to me someday properly.”

Simon had chosen the wrong moment to take another sip of tea, coughing as he fought it down his throat. He promptly placed his mug aside.

“Well…” he breathed, wondering how he could put it lightly. “Your Mum always had a thing for me. It took myself longer to realise what was happening and to make my move, so to speak.”

The fifteen year old wrinkled her nose at Simon’s vagueness.

“It’s true! Johnny, uh, _John_ used to flail about all over me! He was more clumsy before you were born, if you can even believe it!”

She giggled; trying to picture it.

“There was always a spark, something there. I knew it wouldn’t last but…” Simon broke off, with a sniff. Then, he turned to face her again, a dopey grin painting his face. “We have the best girl to show for it!”

She met his smile with one of her own. A true spitting image of young Nigel, that smile was.

“But how did you get Mum to fall in _love_ with you?” She repeated, snuggling up tight to Simon.

He barked out a laugh, catching sight of Yasmin as she lit up the living room space with her mere presence. “It’s a long story…” he trailed off, waggling his brows at her.  
  
  


“Oh, _fine_. Maybe this is a conversation for another woman, anyways.” Diana stated in a huff, slipping free from Simon’s strong grip. After being tickled by him, not wanting her to leave him alone.

“What is it Bar— _Diana!_ Christ, I promise you girl, I’ll get better at that!” The supermodel chuckled, long limbs spreading out on the sofa opposite Simon. She had a steaming mug of tea in her hand, Diana was quick to place it atop of the coffee table.

“I’ll cut the crap, since _he’s_ no help!” She jibed, pointing at Simon who gave an elegant little bow behind her. “How do I get someone to… well, not fall in love with me but, screw it. How do I get someone to at least _like_ me? Want to date me and all that rubbish?”

“Uh, excuse me _young_ lady!” Simon chirped up, Diana couldn’t help but snigger. “You’re far too young to be dating and besides, no boy in that school will ever be good enough for you.”

“I’ll be sixteen this summer! I bet you were no saint at sixteen, huh Dad?”

Yasmin gave a low whistle, definitely surprised by what Simon had to say. “Girl has a point!”

“Oh you know what I meant by that, Yas!”

“Yes, yes I do. Charley’s being the over protective sod of a father, huh!”

Both Yasmin and Diana’s laughter synched up, Simon was surely pouting.

“But in all seriousness, Yasmin, I’m not going to change for anyone but… crap, what do I do?”

She thought a moment, opening her arms for Diana to hug her.

“He’s a hard guy to get too at times, think he gets it from his father, you know?”

“You’ve met his father?” Simon piped up, confused.

She gulped audibly.

_Yes, so have you._

“In passin’ and all that, Dad, yeah.”

_You know him better than I do._

Yasmin was next to speak. She spoke with clarity, voice soft and yet her messages were getting through. This was what she needed to hear. “ _You_ don’t need to do anything, yet. You don’t go changing yourself for anyone, that’s a great attitude to have. Just _talk_ to him, see what he likes, see what he doesn’t like. Maybe find some common ground. Be straight with him, be sure to tell him what’s on your mind.”

_I know what he likes. So do both of you!_

Diana pulled away slightly, eyeing Yasmin as the warm smile crept across the supermodel’s face.

“Don’t play games, like ‘hard to get’ and all that bullshit. It’s really not worth it.” She winked. “Or you could do what your father did with me, blindly hire his date out of a magazine!”

“Hey! The one time I set up a blind date—”

“— You’d already _impregnated_ one fifth of your own band, yes Simon?”

The three broke out into a violent giggling fit, Simon really didn’t have anything else to say!

“But anyways, Diana,” Yasmin, who’s heart rate was finally beginning to settle, “sweetie, just _talk_ to him. Even ask _him_ out, be firm and be strong!”

She considered, humming. “Yeah. I mean, I guess I could. I don’t see why girls are always waitin’ around for some shit like that to happen to them. If I want something, uh him, I should ask him.”

Self righteous as ever, her mind was set. They’d talk first, get to know eachother. Maybe go watch a film, the way Yasmin and Simon did. Just wanting to get to know eachother better, see where things lead.

“Yeah, okay. And I know he’s super into his music so… that could be fun?” She wondered aloud, eyes falling onto Simon again.

“Oh God, I hope his parents aren’t Duranies!” Yasmin sniggered, Simon agreeing with her.

_Uh, yeah. Like you wouldn’t believe…_

“I have all rights to throw him out if he’s a tosser, alright baby girl?” He chuckled, Yasmin’s jaw dropping slightly before she was laughing with him. “What’s his name, anyways?”

She blanked, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Diana?”

She coughed, shuffling to her feet. _Don’t say anything, do not say anything!_

“Diana?” Simon demanded, she didn’t meet his gaze.

“No one in particular…” _this hits closer to home than it should._ “You don’t know him, okay?”

She wasn’t quite sure how to make a move on their fellow guitarist’s _son_ but… well, there wasn’t a chance in hell Diana would be going to John about it. John knew damn well about keeping it in the Duran family however, this is a chance she was going to take.

_It’s Andy Jr. Have fun in France Dad, with his dad, see ya!_


	10. This Baby Of John’s, Is A Killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbarella has some very important questions neither guitarist expects.

**Prompt Day 10:** Silence

 **Pairing:** John/Andy

_Power Station Studios, Reunion_

_Spring 1994_

“Uncle Andy?” Barbarella asked, climbing atop of the sofa and into the guitarist’s lap.

“Yeah sweetie?” For her, he removed his sunglasses. Wincing at the light, Andy took a moment to adjust and blinked rapidly; before settling his gaze on Barbarella again. “What is it?”

“Daddy says that you helped Mummy _have_ me. What does that mean?”

Andy’s jaw dropped.

He sent a glare, a death glare, to the spaced out bassist propped up against the opposite wall of the studio. Seemingly, Barbarella’s words had been enough to drive the junkie away from the needle: John suddenly was back in the room.

He sputtered, gaze falling on the fire in Andy’s uncovered blues. A sight John hadn’t seen in a long time, he didn’t know how to handle that flame anymore.

“Uh… uh, Barbie, you wanna… who wants a _snack?!_ ” John paced straight over to their goodie bag, the tense moment growing between the Taylors three.

“Uncle Andy!” She tried again, tugging at his lapels, “what does that mean?!”

Giving him her brightest angel eyes and pouty lips, Andy was silent a moment as he took that look in. How eerily familiar it was, how he had learnt to stiffen and harden those edges when the very same man before him had tossed him such a pleading look. Years before, many years before.

He glanced upwards, the rangy bassist now shoving some crisps into Barbarella’s hands. She didn’t take her eyes off of the guitarist.

“Andy?” She tried a final time, brows furrowing as she dropped her gaze. With a sigh, a sadness in her face, Barbarella clambered off of his knee. She didn’t know where to go, she didn’t look up at her Mummy, who was sweating profusely and tripping over his tongue. “‘Kay, I’m sorry.”

The almost nine year old was headed for the door, a slump in her shoulders and head bowed. Surely pouting, not that either guitarist could see.

“You owe me, John.” Andy spat, immediately changing his tone. “Wait, sweetie. C’mere.” The guitar beckoned her back over, arms wide and a smile gracing his slightly sun-worn face.

John shrunk back, watching his daughter come skipping back over to the wayward Taylor. Settling in his lap, John gulped nervously as Andy’s mouth dropped open and Barbarella was growing more impatient for an answer.

“Ands?” _Don’t do it, man._

“Barbie… what I uh, what I think you mean is… erm…”

_Don’t do it, man!_ John couldn’t speak, no matter how hard he tried.

“Johnny!” He hadn’t called him that in a very, very long time. Calling for help, a gun to the head… anything. “Wanna help me out ‘ere?”

“No, n-no… I’m good. You know erm, right _here_.” He remained awkward, choosing to perch at the far end of the warn in sofa. Letting Barbarella have Andy’s spotlight.

“Okay.” Andy gulped, tossing his head back for a moment to try and gather his thoughts.

To John’s surprise, the guitarist spoke clear. He was purposely vague, having definitely understood his daughter’s question. He was purposely engaging, knowing when to push and when to pull himself back in. No gory details, nothing too explicit: nothing a nine year old girl really needed to be hearing.

“Mummy needed… _help_ and, you see, I was the only one us back then who ‘ad a baby.”

“Andy Jr, yeah!” She chimed, giggling when snuggling into the guitarist’s neck a tad.

“Well, Mummy needed help and the help he needed couldn’t be there. So I stepped up, I’d done it before and I’m having another baby soon too. With my wife, she hasn’t seen you in a very long time Barbie.”

_JT 2.0… As Andy used to say._

“What did you do?!” She chimed, throughly hooked on his story.

Another nervous glance was thrown John’s way. He may have caught it if he wasn’t staring into space, chewing on his cuticles.

“Eh, Johnny? You wanna pitch in, at some point?” The guitarist tried again, tension still thick and now it was intensifying.

John didn’t budge. Andy rolled his eyes.

Turning back to the child, he lowered his voice and clutched her tight. Wanting to skip about the gory parts, the awkwardness and him definitely seeing much more of John than either Taylor would’ve liked: somehow he managed that, he got through his speech intact.

“I helped you to be born, to come out of Mummy. Mother’s can’t do that alone, sometimes.” _Taylors can’t do it alone, either. Remember John?_

“He was the first to hold you, Barbie.” John straightened up, shocking himself for having spoken.

John stifled a sob, he was reliving the hellish nightmare of birth all over again with his eyes open.

“He uh, y’know he… he _cleaned_ you, he… he _wrapped_ you.” His voice was trembling, reliving both such a horrific moment and the best night of his life all at once. John was shaking, sending a shaky glance to the Taylors on his right; wanting a smile. Craving it. “Barbie, he was the first to hold you. He gave you to me, to Daddy. That’s what he did for me.”

_That’s the start of what Andy did for you._

“At _Live Aid_ , yeah. Backstage. Has Simon ever shown you the tapes?”

She shook her head.

“Thank God, little girl!”

“… _Wow!_ ” Her little burst of amazement was finally enough to bring John out of his trance, he forced himself to look at Andy. Knowing Andy was forcing himself to look at him.

There was a small, if John blinked he would’ve missed it, a small lop sided… _smile? Yeah._ Smile. One that the bassist hadn’t realised until this very moment, or maybe he had back in ’86, he’d been missing so dearly.

  
  


Though it took him a few tries, John simply mouthed a ‘thank you’ the guitarist’s way. Andy nodded, before drawing Barbarella’s attention again.

“You owe me, big time, mate.”

_Mate? Crikey!_ John let out the breath he hadn’t known to be holding.

“Uh, y-yeah, yeah sure. Ands,” he dared, “yeah. How can I repay—”

“—Who wants chicken nuggets?!” Andy was quick to yell, Barbarella was quick to squeal within his grip.

Then, dropping his tone, Andy leant over to whisper in the bassists ear. “Chicken nuggets and beer is only the start, you owe me _big_ time for this John. You can repay me with more long solo’s on this record you suddenly wan’ make.”

He let slip a chuckle, John immediately unclenched.

“ _Burger King_ then a lorry load of _Fosters_ it is, Ands.”

“For me, not for you. Man, you’ve ‘ad enough.”

Though it hurt, John agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had this idea in my mind a while now, I’m glad it finally materialised into something!!


	11. When The Renée Comes Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When the rain comes down, down, down; _Renée shouldn’t be the one having to comfort her, again.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title adapted from Andy Taylor’s “When The Rain Comes Down” from Miami Vice, 1986. A favourite song of his!!

**Prompt Day 11:** Drip

_John’s Knightsbridge Apartment, Spring 1989_

Scooping Barbarella up, Renée was quick to shush her, clutching her tight to her beating heart. She slipped into the bed, keeping a firm grip on the almost four year old. She was crying softly, Renée was right behind her; tears forming in her own eyes. She swallowed them down, needing to be strong for the child.

A fight had broken out downstairs. Renée didn’t want anything more to do with it. She was quick to get out of harm’s way, a swift press to Simon’s shoulder told him _I’m so sorry._ Renée was done with being here, staying with John some nights and helping out, _staying in_ with Barbarella. She was sick of watching him drink himself stupid, snorting up life force after life force. Exhausted through their own fights, done with the modelling world. Most importantly, after her months away in the Israeli Kibbutz, she was done with John. Done with Duran.

John didn’t need to hear that now.

Guilt was rife on her skin, her bottom lip was trembling; Simon didn’t need to deal with her now either. He had it rough enough, again having tried to help John get a hold of himself. Get control of himself, his deadly bottles and vials.

She had run, instructed Simon to follow.

There was a harsh crash, the front door. She recognised it immediately, Simon had stormed out.

_Thank God._

Renée had only now realised that unconsciously, or totally consciously, her own frail hands had come to rest around Barbarella’s head, covering her ears as best as the supermodel could. She lightly kissed those rumpled blonde locks, now running her hands up Barbarella’s quivering sides, in hope to stop her shivering.

It wasn’t much use. Renée tried to act like this wouldn’t happen again. Though the sound of violent crashes, harsh curses and swears from downstairs were too prominent. Too hard to ignore. She wanted nothing more than to slap some sense into John, take Barbarella for the night to her own place, not too far from here.

Though unfortunately Renée knew, she wouldn’t be getting away that easily.

She had almost missed those frail and muffled words, tears now falling down her own cheeks.

“Why is Mummy?” Barbarella began, craning her neck to catch sight of the supermodel’s own tears face. “Auntie Ren? Why is Mummy…?”

She said nothing more. Renée knew exactly what she was trying to say, though an almost four year old couldn’t have any real idea why mummy’s happy now, he did what he did.

“I…” she croaked, swiping a single tear. “I don’t know, sweetie.” Her voice was low, taught, grip on Barbarella so tight as though John was to burst in the bedroom at any moment. “Mummy… Mummy doesn’t know either. Why he,” she sniffled, head tipping back to the ceiling for a moment.

She caught sight of the stars and the moon, the galaxy stickers that decorated the ceiling. They were illuminated with a soft light, they were meant to soothe and comfort Barbarella throughout the night; guarding her as she slept. Renée wished they would do the same for her now, too.

“Mummy doesn’t know why, Barbie. He really doesn’t.” Another crash, a curse, Renée instinctively held Barbarella tighter. “Mummy isn’t _Mummy_ right now, okay?”

Her voice was hitching, it was throaty yet she couldn’t cough to clear it. Living in fear, there was a monster on the other side of that door.

There was another little choked off sob, Renée fought her gaze down. Barbarella had shifted so now they were bleary eye to eye, snotty nose to nose. She lurched her tiny body forward, crying softly onto the supermodel’s broad shoulder. Renée, as pitiful as it may seem, found herself doing the exact same thing: Barbarella’s blonde ringlets involuntarily mopping up her own cries.

_So much for being the adult, here. Hellig lort._

Barbarella began to pull away, clutching tight to a lock of dirty blonde hair. Renée didn’t mind, though she felt her heart continue to harden in her chest.

“When will, y’know… Mummy be… _Mummy_ again?” She breathed, little chest hitching and falling through her words.

Renée was stunned into further silence, really having nothing to say. _He won’t,_ was all that flashed up in her mind. _He won’t, if he carries on this way. He can’t, not with you here, I won’t let him._

“Auntie, Ren?” She began, still clutching tight to her hair. Forcing the supermodel’s gaze down, bottom lip trembling. “Stay here.”

Though it hurt her to do so, Renée nodded.

“Stay with me, tonight.”

“I’ll stay…” she gulped down the guilt, she wouldn’t be staying much longer. “I’ll stay, _tonight_.”

Renée couldn’t bring herself to speak anymore.


	12. Handmade, For Daddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a little stop over on the Big Live Thing tour, Barbie and Tatji have presents for their parents!

**Prompt Day 12:** Arts And Crafts

_Big Live Thing, Late 1989_

“Mummy, Daddy!”

“Barbie!” Simon called back, running and giggling like a loon; scooping her up and twirling her around. “I’ve missed you!” He sang, jazz hands and all.

Simon glanced down; a teeny fist was tugging at the hem of his leather trousers. There was a frustrated whine, the fabric was slippery and she couldn’t get a good grip on them.

“Oh, come here!” Simon crouched back down, allowing Tatjana to scramble into his grip. She did, giggling softly, knowing her daddy wasn’t too far behind.

Simon turned around to John, both girls in hand.

“John.”

He had been growing his dirty blonde locks out, like Barbarella used to with John’s mullet; she had taken to running her tiny fingers through those strands and liked to latch onto Daddy’s crazy hair.

“John?”

Simon had never minded it, somewhat sure that a part of him had grown his hair out because John had cut his: Barbarella wasn’t so attached to her Mummy as such, these days.

“ _John?!_ ” He tried again, frustrated.

John was rocking slowly, eyes blown wide and lips dropping open. He hadn’t even noticed that Barbarella and Tatjana were in the room. With a shake of head, Simon settled on the sofa beside where the girls had been playing. Alongside one of their backing singer’s son, who’s name had slipped his mind. He was with his mother now, during this brief break in the tour.

“What’s this, Barbie?!” Simon asked, letting Tatjana crawl out of his grip to settle next to her big sister before him.

“For you!” She giggled, pushing a special little art project into her Daddy’s arms.

Tatjana squealed too, knowing Nick wasn’t too far behind.

“For _me?_ ” Simon exclaimed, ogling over his little gift: a macaroni necklace, very classic. “I love it, baby! It’ll fit very well with this jacket!”

Simon threw the necklace on without shame, laughing at the stray glitter that was left on his fingertips; collar bones dusted in dried and falling glue.

“ _Perfect!_ ”

Barbarella tugged him down by the blearing green leather jacket, by the black florals. With a whisper, a little sadness in her tone, “I made one for Mummy too... I know he _won’t_ like it.”

Simon backed away slightly, casting a quick glance behind him. John had taken a pew, was nibbling on his bottom lip and tweaking. _In need of a hit,_ Simon knows. Turning back to Barbarella, he shook his head and grasped the glittery mess that was John’s gift.

“Leave it to me, I’ll _make_ him wear it!” Simon chuckled, both Barbarella and Tatjana joining in. “It’s absolutely precious, like you, baby girl!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally, we have Tatjana!


	13. Somebody Better Look Out For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a very special _first _day. Simon’s thankful John decided to turn up.__

**Prompt Day 13:** Grow

_September 5th, 1990_

“Okay, bye!”

The hug was quick. Too quick. Swift, Barbarella’s hands were around John’s neck and then Simon’s, both crouching before her. She span about, giggling merrily, backpack rattling as she skipped straight to the open classroom door. Both Simon and John slowly rose to standing, being careful not to draw too much attention; although they were both stood in the school grounds that once welcomed three little but lively Le Bon boys over two decades ago.

“Wow.” John breathed, tears forming as he watched her go.

Barbarella was at the door, her new teacher beside her; waving. Waving to them both, her huge _cheeky cheeky Nigel_ grin plastered to her little face.

As Barbarella was a summer baby, she was stuck in the category of kids who had to wait till five to start school. So she was one of the oldest, as opposed to the youngest. So she was more developed, able to tie her laces herself and use the toilet by herself. Old enough to eat and dress by herself, old enough to start making friends the proper way.

Though John had a hunch, she was more than ready for this. She was an early bloomer, in every sense of the word. Very smart, intuitive and inquisitive, she was absolutely ready for this. In fact she had been a little upset that she had to wait, though that didn’t mean Simon didn’t want her writing her name and counting on her fingers before she started primary school.

She could do more than simply count on her fingers, she was a little genius!

Barbarella slipped from their sight then, John waving sheepishly whilst trying to smile. When he deemed the coast clear, John let out a lengthy sigh.

“Fuck.” He swept a stray tear, “Simon, I… she’s really gone.”

Simon sent a smile his way. “She’s growing up so fast, John. I’m really glad you’re here for this.”

John tried not to think too deeply into what that meant. It meant more than the move to LA, meant more than taking the trip back between recording for this special first day.

“I’m really glad I’m, you know, _here_ too.”

He craved… anything. Everything. There was some hash oil in his hotel room, in his head he was speeding back there.

A hand on his shoulder shook John out of it, somewhat. “Let’s get to the studio, she’ll be fine.”

John blinked back another tear, before nodding.

Together they took the leisurely stroll through the playground towards the open gates. John’s steps were small and laboured, feeling somewhat guilty for leaving her here. At the gate John found himself pausing, rewinding. He span around, giving the school a final heated glance. Sizing the building up, flushing under his check collar.

“John, it’s okay. She’ll be fine.” John shrugged Simon off of his shoulder blade. “Hey, me and my brothers all came here, look how we turned out!”

With a scoff, “at least Jonathan turned out good.”

“ _Asshole_.” Simon slapped him, in good nature. “C’mon, we’ll get coffee before meeting with Nick. We need you erm, _awake_ to record today. No more distractions.”

John nodded, finally letting go of the gate. He quickened his pace, skipping slightly so he remained a few steps ahead of Simon. Headed for his _Aston Martin,_ back to his hotel room. He could record later, if he still remembered his own name.


	14. I’m Happy Now, You Did What You Did

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana has some very important questions concerning old solo, horny music videos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember John’s the only one who calls Diana ‘Barbie/Barbarella’ after 1997. He can never quite get it into his head that she’s using her middle name...

**Prompt Day 14:** Cornered

_Los Angeles, Spring 1999_

“Hey, Mum!” Diana called from the kitchen, a plate of chocolate chip biscuits in hand.

“Yes, baby?” John piped up from behind his script, highlighter in hand.

Diana took a moment to survey the scene. “You’re really gonna go for it? What’s the film called again?”

“ _Sugar Town_.”

“Ah, I won’t even ask.” She chuckled, falling atop of the sofa to hand John a biscuit. “Can we talk a minute, please?”

“Sure Barbie, what’s up?” John’s eyes narrowed behind the glasses, he cocked his head to the left. Something was wrong.

“Okay, I don’t know how to say it so… y’know I’ll just, erm yeah. I’ll just say it.”

“‘Kay?”

She gulped down a chocolate chip, before placing the biscuit back on its plate. Now sitting beside him, she crossed her legs and turned bodily to face John. John silently questioned her, alarm bells ringing in mind.

“I was watching this Forgotten Eighties Special on _MTV_ the other night…” John knew that look: she was trying not to laugh.

Treading gently on this sure to be flaming ground, “… yes?”

And just like that she burst out laughing, chest shaking and tears forming in her eyes. “Do.. d-do you look the way, Mum, you wanted… wanted to look?!”

John straightened up.

“Do you feel the way, you…” she cut herself off, chuckling harder. “You wanted to feel?”

John coughed on his biscuit.

“Mum, are you happy now, that you fan—”

“—That’s enough!” Christ, John was chuckling so hard he was sure to give himself the hiccups at any moment.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me about that?! Why didn’t I know you had a solo hit, right after I was born?!” Diana didn’t sound mad, more hysterical: trying to pick up the pieces.

_Cornered_. John didn’t say a word.

“Mum, hey! The hell didn’t I know sooner?!”

He stifled another giggle by biting his bottom lip, having no idea how to explain that one.

“ _John!_ ”

“Alright! Jeez Barbie, alright.”

She swung her legs off of the side of the sofa, now shuffling so she could rest her head on his chest. John was still inwardly drowning in his own pain, his memories of that song and its recording was really limited. He had been on a lot of crap at that point, his baby girl was the one constant that could bring him out of his pain.

He remembered her being there at his video shoot, he remembered having to stop filming so he could feed and soothe her. It was an incredibly strange experience on a matter of fronts, his first video shoot as both a parent and a director. Directing himself – a hat he would never and has never worn well.

“… Mum?”

Nothing had gone the way he wanted. From his wrinkled suit to crazy unkempt hair. His weight was still teetering too far over the scales and it was his one chance. His one chance at a solo single, there was so much riding on ‘I Do’.

“John?”

But what was the worst thing about that shoot? John already knew he was no front man. He had been pushed and pushed for the spot by countless producers and executives across the globe.

“JT?”

It was all on him. The responsibility. Whether the record even came together, meeting deadlines and creating a video concept. To the album art and promotional material. He had taken it all on like a champ, he had creative control.

“Nigel!”

“What?!” Finally he shook himself from his daze.

“You okay? You’ve been starin’ out to space a while?”

John nodded, eyes still glassy behind the frames. The worst part, though it had taken him years to admit it: he thoroughly enjoyed doing what he do alone at the time… he had missed Simon more than ever with that shoot. With that recording, having his vulnerable and questionable vocal blasting through all those speakers, being mixed and re-mixed, pitches altered and enhanced…

“Do you wanna talk about it, Mum?”

Not to mention he was drunk enough to get behind the mic in the first place.

Simon wasn’t even proud of him, he didn’t think. Though it was forever ago, John still didn’t know whether any of his original band mates ever liked it. Not even Nick.

“No, no Barbie.” He shook his head, a sorrow painting his guise.

She nodded, of course she wasn’t able to understand. Then she giggled, trying to lift his mood. “Well, you did a damn fine job of keeping me in the dark there! I spoke to Dad, he has some old copies of your single. Can’t wait to hear it properly when I’m back in London!”

“Oh _fuck!_ ” He chuckled, unaware if it was in good taste. “‘Course Charley does.” John let his head fall back atop the back of the sofa, hands landing on his face before threading through his auburn hair.

Though he couldn’t see Diana, he knew she was smirking. “If it means anythin’ Mum, you know _I’m_ happy now, _you_ did what you did.” She chuckled through her words, half sang – half giggled.

Those tinkly tones were enough to bring John out of his daze, he rose his head and turned to her. Arms open, she crawled back into his hold for a cuddle.

“For the record, are there more solo eighties songs of yours?”

John swallowed nervously.

“There _are?!_ Fuckin’ hell!”

He could only chuckle, praying inwardly for the conversation to change.

“You know, I love you so much, baby girl.” His voice was soft, fond, kissing his few words into her forehead.

There was a hum, Diana further melting into the embrace.

They sat there in silence a few more minutes, biscuits and scripts discarded. John payed close attention to her heaving chest; the subtle rises and falls as Diana inhaled stabilising breath after breath. He found himself doing the same, pulse beginning to settle and the embarrassment was no longer so flush on his pasty skin.

Then, out of no-where, their moment broke.

“ _I Do What I D_ o to have you, have you. I do it all to have—”

“—Oh!” John whined, more than ready to get Diana in a headlock then tickle her to the ground. “Fuck you, Barbie!”

“I do it all to have you, woo!”


	15. What’s The Name Of The Game?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It means a lot to Barbarella.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some delightful _We Danced _throwbacks!__

**Prompt Day 15:** Myth

_  
Recording THE WEDDING ALBUM, Autumn 1992_

“Mummy, I have a question.”

“… What is it, Barbie?”

“What’s my second name mean?”

“ _Second_ name? Taylor?”

“No!”

“Second… Second… _Diana?_ ”

“Yes!”

“It’s a real _myth_ huh? Oh okay, c’mere, I’ll tell you the story.”

“Okay, Mummy!”

“When you were, you know, _inside_ of me, one day I was looking at you on the screen with the doctor. He, well, one of our songs came on the radio... We thought it was very funny!”

“Funny? What song?!”

“Uh, _Wild Boys_.”

“Wyled! Boyeeez!”

“That’s the one, baby! So, that song comes on during my ultra— _scan_ , my scan. Then the doctor says something about that _Rio_ I’ve got growin’ inside o’ me. _Dancing_.”

“Me!”

“Yeah, you, Rio! So, I start calling you Rio inside of me. More for comfort, you know? I was very lonely during that time. Those nine months.”

“You were? Why?”

“… Erm, n-not now Barbie, okay? Back to the story. A couple months later an’ I realised that I think I knew your name. Your first: Barbarella. And you know where that came from!”

“I do!”

“Yeah, Jane Fonda. ‘Jane’ actually did cross my mind, I wasn’t sure. Si-Daddy liked ‘Barbarella’ more when I mentioned it to him in late June. Your name had to be… you know, _memorable_. I’m sure I’ve said it before but you know our Bond song, don’t you?”

“… Dance into the fire?”

“ _A View To A Kill,_ yes.”

“Oh, okay.”

“It’s a rubbish film but a great song! Anyways, I was at what’s called the _premier_ – an early showing of the film for celebrities, cast and crew. We were invited as we wrote the theme. You may ‘ave heard of Princess Diana? She’s no princess anymore now, though.”

“Princess?”

“Yeah, Barbie! A real life _princess!_ ”

“Wow, Mummy!”

“Yeah! The most beautiful, rule breaking and challenging royal ever. She really made such a huge difference with her work, for lots of poorer people; all around the world. She likes bein’ with the public, you know?”

“Wow!”

“No royal had done that before… The day was June 13th 1985, exactly one month before you were born. I already had it in my head that your _middle_ name, Barbie, would be Diana… Daddy didn’t know that yet. So, being the klutz that I am; I run straight into the princess at the theatre!”

“Really? That’s funny.”

“Right?! I ‘ad a face full of her silvery gown, she was absolutely _stunning_. You have no idea, baby… Anyways, I actually had, erm, just been sick—”

“— _Sick?_ Why?”

“… Babies do that to you. You’re swimmin’ around in my gut for nine months! I’m gonna get a little dizzy!”

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be! It’s not your fault, it happens. Happens all the time. I ran into her ‘usband, Prince Charles, then I see her right in fronta me. Crazy.”

“So how did you…”

“I asked her. You were kicking like mad, like you knew that was your name. I asked the princess, she loved it. If it was uh, _legal,_ she’d be your Godmother; you know?”

“Godmother?”

“Yeah! Holy crap, now it might be legal… But one more thing: I’d met her before, we were— _are,_ we are her favourite band. Have been since ’83, we met her a couple times and I know Simon and Jonathan were at an AIDS benefit with her the other week. She’s always been a Duranie, the best Duranie… till _you_ came along!”

“Really? She’s a fan?”

“Absolutely. I never had chance to ask which one of us was her favourite but… Barbie c’mere, I think it’s _me!_ ”

“It’s you! Or Daddy?”

“Yeah… me or Daddy. Anyways, so _that’s_ how you got your middle name. Daddy loved it so we agreed, after the premier. Named after Lady Diana Spencer, now her divorce has gone through. Who’s favourite band is ours.”

“That’s… y’know, _awesome!_ ”

“Isn’t it?!”

“Yeah! Thanks Mummy.”

“No problem, baby girl.”


	16. Telling The Real From Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John can’t tell the real from reflection, alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cal, this one’s for you. You did it much better than my single draft!

**Prompt Day 16:** Hands

 **Pairing:** John/Simon

_New York, March 1986_

Bracing himself, taking a stabling breath; John fought with himself to bring his gaze up. Holed away in this secret place, face to face with himself: he felt the chill. When he finally did manage to hold his gaze, the bassist didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, whether to void his guts right there. He felt the sweat, a dizzying feeling swirling about his suddenly heavy head. He leant forward to clutch at the sink, for support.

He pulled away with a short exhale dropping from his ruby tinted lips. Shaking, he bought a string worn fingertip up before his face, watching carefully as it inched down and down; coming to settle on his hips. The skin tickled, he shivered, he’d never touched that part of his body with it’s new branding.

The stretch marks weren’t too deep though they wouldn’t fade. They were imprinted into his skin, like a tattoo needing touch ups to really catch the light, to really harness its colour. He was incredibly pale already, these marks were stripped across his hips and rounded up to his stomach; a branding that – he stifled a tear – he was honoured to have.

His fingertips grew ever more confident, two then three digits now lightly grazing each stripe. Each mark, each imprint. Like a tapestry of sorts, narrating back the story to him, those nine months. Their nine months together. It hadn’t been easy, it could never be easy.

John still wasn’t a healthy weight. He didn’t see himself the way he wanted, wondering just how his mind twisted and distorted the images of himself or whether the mirror was the culprit too. He did fit into frame though didn’t feel he belonged there anymore. Not shirtless, anyways.

Tears brimming in his eyes, a trembling bottom lips, saw the bassist’s hand jerking forward for his abandoned shirt. Tossed atop of the closed toilet seat, he couldn’t quite take his eyes off of his reflection as he hunted the fabric. _Can’t tell the real from reflection,_ however those tattoos really did seem real. They were there, they were there to stay. His branding, his markings, his story.

Hand mere inches from the white linen, he hovered, mouth dropping open to a disturbed degree. Simon was right there, crowding the door frame, a puzzled look painting a solemn expression.

John picked up the shirt.

Two strides were taken, he clung to the swish Simon’s boxy black jacket made as he took those sacred steps. He was crowded, shielded, supported by that frame. His hands were quick to rest on John’s shoulders causing the bassist to pause, to stiffen then straighten up. Catching the heat within Simon’s cool irises, John gulped then focused his own gaze.

There was a hand on his shoulder, the other momentarily disappearing from the bassist’s sight. He could feel it though, those soft and treasured fingertips were caressing his right side, were rounding his stomach and skirting down. To land atop of his abused hip, taught and torn skin, bruised and healing. Healing, through Simon’s healing touch.

John put down the shirt.

His gaze followed that of Simon’s, the front man laying his head to rest atop of John’s shoulder. John couldn’t help but feel warm, feeling the jitters as Simon lit small fires atop of his stomach with every loving caress. He shuddered, Simon giggled; the sound music to his ears. Simon’s fingertips had latched onto him, delivering small circular ministrations to soothe John, to comfort him. He finally found himself leaning into those touches, no longer so afraid.

With that, their bonds running deeper by the minute, Simon’s left hand bid farewell to John’s left shoulder. John watched, enthralled, as both huge hands came to fan about his middle. Resting softly atop of his bulging stomach, caressing softly the stripes in his skin. With all his strength, John kept his eyes open through the immense feeling. Needing to take in every detail, every thought and smoke threatening to light his fire.

However cautious, he found his own hands to hover ever so close to Simon’s, not quite daring enough to land atop of the front man’s soothing warmth just yet.

There was another little chuckle from his side. Shivering, John felt Simon press it into his neck; he couldn’t help but loll his head back to let out a lengthy sigh. Flicking the stray mullet strands from his puffy face, he bought his head back down so he was face to face with himself again.

This time, he pried Simon’s right hand off of his chest to settle his own atop it. Fingers interlocking, palms brushing, he needed to cling to Simon for their moment. His golden insignia ring was gleaming against John’s pastel palm. Finally, his pulse began to settle. He felt less ashamed of who he was seeing in the mirror.

Telling the real from reflection, knowing Simon’s loving touch was more than real. Was there, with him.


	17. Den Fathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Nick, somewhat, build a blanket fort with the girls.

**Prompt Day 17:** Shelter

_London, late 1989_

“And one more… one moreeeeeee, got it!”

Both girls giggled, watching through the little crack in the blanket fort ‘doors.’

Together, Barbarella and Tatjana were lost in the blankety haze, submerged deep within a whole bunch of pillows, blankets, duvets and clothing pegs. Ripped straight from the never made beds.

“And we’re _done!_ ” Simon crouched down before the girls, opening his arms for them to shuffle out and clamber into his embrace. “Let’s have a look!”

“Daddy!” Tatjana called, seeing Nick now beside Simon.

Both men hoisted their girls to the heavens, so they could see their blanket fort in full. It was magnificent!

“It’s a great den, isn’t it Charley?”

With a smirk; “it sure is, Nicholas.”

“Now aren’t you glad I told you to take the black blanket atop of the two greys, clip them down and place pillows on the chairs to hold them?”

“It’s not like you did any bloody work!”

Nick smirked.

Simon silenced himself by a tug at his flowing, golden strands. “Where’s Mummy? Will he like it?”

A wary glance was sent Nick’s way, neither man knew where John was. Neither man could particularly bring themselves to care.

“I’m sure Mummy will, okay Barbie?”

She squealed with glee, resting her head atop of Simon’s jacketed shoulder. “Okay Daddy!”

“Who wants to play in the fort?!” Simon bellowed, eliciting excited screeches all round.

He was quick to put Barbarella down and shuffle to his knees, letting his baby girl show him the way. He and Nick couldn’t wait to see how they had ‘decorated’ the inside.


	18. Careless Memories Never Go Out Of Fashion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When packing for the move back to London, Diana’s lost in the void of John’s careless memories.

**Prompt Day 18:** Vintage

_Los Angeles, January 2001_

With a shaky breath, she placed another box beside her feet and surveyed the room. John’s bedroom was littered with suitcases, brown boxes she needed to label, half open closets, clothing strewn about the place. His room was a mess though slowly but surely, things were coming together.

Diana was lost amongst the memories. From stage costumes to old and by in no means tattered posters, photo albums and rejected cover shoots; she was in heaven, pouring through her Mother’s _Careless Memories._ She really was shocked by how much memorabilia John had stored away, shucked from her sight. Though the bulk of satin cloaks from 1985, an endless sea of leather jackets and trousers from 1983 had been bought down from their loft. Had been preserved and cared for, the fabric still had a whiff of smoke about it. A whiff that she knew better than anyone was pure _John._

The clothing she recognised to be his _Notorious_ era had been somewhat hastily packed away in another tattered box Diana had found. John’s wardrobe throughout that era had consisted of baggy blazer jackets and oversized pin stripe trousers, patterned shirts with a muted decadence coating the cotton fabric. A clean and sleek look voicing the band’s newfound maturity and growing sound: very rich.

For whatever reason, more than aware she wouldn’t be caught dead in John’s homemade _Sing Blue Silver_ striped concoction, the _Notorious_ boxes really were speaking to her.

Perhaps it was because she was there. Crawling about, drooling and scaring herself when she got the hiccups. She was there. Giggling, clutching tirelessly to satin sheets, singing softly along with Simon. She was there. It was the first album era where Diana was truly with John, with everyone, on the road and through recording. Squealing her little head off into John’s bouncy shoulder pads, wincing because his string beaten fingers were rough around her little torso.

She’d seen enough pictures by now to know: this was the box for her.

Diana wasn’t sure how much time had passed though they were on a schedule. The reunion and move back to London were imminent, John needed to get a wriggle on and decide what should be put into storage or what to simply – finally – toss away. But for now, she lay swamped in a sea of patterned shirts and boxy blazers; ones that really would drown her trim figure the way John must’ve been trying to drown his baby weight way back when.

She was pawing through pile after pile, giggling when she could and couldn’t picture her Mother looking so stylish; cackling when she really hit the nail on the head.

The mullet. The _atrocious_ blonde fringe era. After many atrocious blonde fringes.

She’d seen enough candids to know that her Mother really didn’t like looking after it; only for his photoshoots was John’s fringe up and out of his face, teased and gelled to perfection.

She clung to a questionable shirt. It was a rich navy, with strange fonts sporadic all over it. Rocket ships and walkways, she wasn’t sure. Somewhat out of this world… though she couldn’t recall a single photo of John wearing it.

Simon, yes. John, no.

Placing shirt by shirt aside, the one she came across next tingled in her grip. It was speaking to her, memories whispering softly all around her, as though the patterned detail was really trying to speak. Her smile was blinding, her fingertips quaking as Diana bought the fabric in closer; holding it tight to her chest. Her smokey gaze slipped closed, she let herself feel.

John’s aura was still there, that familiar scent lingering on the material. She sighed happily, eyes peeling open to land on the precious fabric she was clutching too in her hands. The print hadn’t even seemed to fade, the shoulder pads were still smooth and springy when she brushed them up against her cheek.

Just like she used too, not that Diana could remember correctly. Just like the photographs she had seen, colours fading but images never losing their light. She was holding John’s leopard print shirt she had loved so dearly as a baby. Partnered with that epic black hat he once had, the one she recognised from _Top Of The Pops_ re-runs: Christmas ‘86.

Simon used to place John’s epic hat on her teeny head all the time, she would squeal and shriek as it was far too big for her. Scaring her, when the rim dropped over her eyes. There was a tape of that somewhere she recalled, she was bobbing in Nick’s lap as Simon could only laugh harder – scaring his baby girl more! John had been behind the camera, laughing like a loon.

Another image flashed up in her mind. A woman, too stunning for her own good with sparkling topaz gemstones in her eyes; glistening hair as gold as the sun. She too had been captured wearing this shirt, Diana was convinced that the woman had worn it better than John did at times. They had shared countless clothing items for years before they drifted apart, she even dressed Di— _Barbarella_ (as she was known back then) in similar colour palettes, patterns and styles. As though they were a family too. A different one, a _model_ mother-daughter relationship to help guide John: ever so perfectly imperfect.

The woman bore a striking resemblance to Simon at times in terms of her features, Diana would giggle at the photographs: _no wonder Mum saw what he saw in her the way he did Dad._

With a giggle, a naughty little thought crept over to her. Though it would feel a little strange and by in no means fit correctly. If the woman could do it, so could she. Though she was no supermodel, didn’t possess a supermodel’s body; that wouldn’t stop her creating her own careless memory for her parents. She slipped on the shirt.

The fabric was heaven on her lightly tan skin, drawing goosebumps and causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end. She shivered bodily, not wanting to look in the rhinestone encrusted mirror as her fingertips worked the buttons and straightened out the collar.

Though the shirt hadn’t been touched in a number of years, raising to her feet, Diana was sure that the look suited her perfectly. That the look hadn’t really gone out of style. Two long and elegant fingers traced the edges of the shirt, passing her hips and resting against her slim thighs. Knowing she was wearing a man’s shirt, she giggled at the naughty thought: thinking she really ought to be in a morning after daze, with rumpled hair and glassy eyes; underwear and lean legs on show to make this work.

Knowing the sight of her in the haze of her afterglow would only freak John out, she decided to tie the draping ends around her waist instead. Baring a little slither of the black tank she wore, clutching tight to her skinny frame. Next came the reveal, her skin was glowing as she crept into frame. Tingling all over as she dared to let her heavy gaze roam her figure, staring intently at the girl before her.

It felt like coming home, somehow. However far fetched the thought may have seemed. Memories, a dear nostalgia she really was too young to embrace, seemed to wash all over her. She was glowing in this shirt, now really knowing it was tailored for her too. The next Taylor generation.

Be it in 1986, _whacking her precious ikkle head into Mummy’s shoulder pads_ or now: wondering if her Mother would dare rest his head atop of those shoulder pads she now wore with glee.


	19. Hungry Wolf Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A delightful ‘family’ picnic. Feeding eachother.

**Prompt Day 19:** Fruit

_Site Of The Leaning Tower Of Pisa, Italy_

_Working For The Skin Trade Tour 1987_

Bouncing their no longer so little girl on his hip, John watched as blankets were laid down before him. Plastic plates and cutlery nabbed from dressing rooms around the country, the check blanket was decorated with fine Italian cheeses, breads, and a disarray of fruit in every colour of the effervescent rainbow.

His feet were bare, soaking up the grass strands beneath him, he noticed little daisies too, peeking out from the tops of the rich green blades. He was babbling softly to Barbarella, who’s own little beady eyes were wide with excitement. Right before this crucial three lay the infamous leading landmark, crooked by each magnificent degree.

Pisa was truly a wonderful place to be. Today they had no paparazzi, there hadn’t been any swarms of fans they couldn’t shake. It wasn’t as though they were unknown here, they were, it was that their tour was over now. For this portion, today was their final day before flying on; setting up and starting all over again in a new country.

“I think it’s ready.” That voice was tight, John knew Simon wasn’t looking at him as he had said it.

He and Simon had drifted apart and reunited multiple times on this tour. Though for the moment, their so-called relationship was more than a little rocky. Simon had a new lady love now, he was content. He was happy, thrilled, in love like the way his fairytale was supposed to go. John was slowly but surely coming to terms with that, he acted civil in the work space and violent in his own place. That’s how they worked.

The two had also agreed that for Barbarella’s sake, though she was only two years old, they would be ‘together’ in her eyes as much as they physically could. She was toddling around now; babbling back to them as though her little cries were full blown conversations. She knew her parents better than they knew themselves at times, John was certain about that.

He crouched down beside Simon, bouncing Barbarella in his denim clad lap. John silently debated which fruit to pass her way first, waiting to see if there was anything Barbarella would scramble too if he let her loose.

With a knowing glance Simon’s way, he let her go.

They were side by side, both resting on their palms which were ever so close to touching now. Both sets of eyes were wide, fond for the sight in front of them instead of cold when locking onto each other. They never showed Barbarella any hostility, she didn’t need that. She had it rough enough.

She worked her way around the picnic mat, little buckled shoes catching the light. Her blonde locks were swept back into a high ponytail, her favourite black butterfly clip in her hair, Leonard in her grip. Like her Mummy, she was dressed in a matching monochrome striped shirt though hers fell off of one shoulder; and teeny grey shorts. She was a little fashionista too, she really did look up (in every sense of the word) to the supermodels in her little treasured life.

John couldn’t help but smile softly as she pointed to a bowl. She crouched down before turning to her Mummy again, silently asking for grapes. John nodded, before it grew into a face splitting smile. Barbarella matched that with a little gleeful giggle of her own, plonking herself down before the grape bowl that Simon now held out for her.

John’s eyes followed the singer’s hands as he carefully pulled grape after grape off of its stem. He chose the smaller ones, all without seeds, holding out his palm. Barbarella toddled over before landing with a squeal in Simon’s lap; beady eyes on the green grapes he held.

At that moment Simon looked up at John, who momentarily blanked. Barbarella seemed happy, happily gnawing away at grape after grape. She was content, hungry wolf eyes on her food. Simon’s own hungry wolf eyes… well, John coughed irritably, shucking his gaze away to the cheese platter at his left.

John’s own hungry wolf eyes forced him to turn around. He now held a sandwich with baguette bread, some fancy Italian cheese he couldn’t pronounce. Though Simon’s hands were full, John found himself kneeling beside him; a mutual glance telling Simon to open wide. He did so with a hearty chuckle, biting down on whatever John offered him.

That list consisted of sandwiches, crisps, fruit of all kinds. The hotel had really been kind to them that morning, helping them to celebrate their last night staying with them, by packing them a wonderful picnic.

John wasn’t even sure what fruit Simon was half feeding Barbarella now, those baby blues were locked onto him; though John was still feeding him the baguette. Simon took the final bite, careful not to scrape Johnny finger tips (as a bassist, he’d really be needing those) before pausing. For whatever reason John too had leant in, had let his fingers do the talking and his poor head was a moment behind.

Now he was kneeling, face mere inches away from Simon and the chopped watermelon he now held. Something cheeky crept over Simon’s face, Barbarella wasn’t looking at either of them as she gleefully chomped away. Simon immediately stole a piece, John opened wide.

He giggled, taking the first bite. He kept at it, bringing his own hands up to Simon’s own. He clutched tight as he manoeuvred one palm to Simon’s jacketed shoulder; keeping himself upright. When John got to the skin Simon tossed it aside. He couldn’t move with Barbarella resting in his lap, so John crept over to him.

He didn’t know why he did it, he couldn’t bring himself to care. All that John knew was that he had sorely missed the taste of those lips. The feel of them, the press of them. Their lips locked once, mouths closed, before John pulled away with a sigh.

That was enough, he and his hungry wolf eyes were happy now.


	20. John’s Girls On Film, Got Their Picture!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renée is tasked with putting on a mini fashion show for John, in the bedroom...

**Prompt Day 20:** Glow

_Renée’s London Apartment, December 1987_

Calling John up to the guest bedroom, he was greeted by merry little giggles from Barbarella. He couldn’t see her, she and Auntie Renée were tucked away behind the makeshift screen. John could make out the supermodel’s gorgeous silhouette, she was fluffing up her dirty blonde bangs and then, John’s heart was in his throat a moment, the silhouette morphed. Barbarella was being bounced on her hip, giggles intensifying. John couldn’t help but smile like a loon.

“Are you ready?”

“Always.” John chuckled, too eager for his surprise.

“Place the needle down.”

John hadn’t noticed, Renée had bought the record player up. He peered over, smirking inwardly as he read the single title.

“ _Girls On Film._ Good choice, Ren!” He inwardly groaned.

She chuckled lightly, the sound rhythmical and grounding all at once. John shuffled back up the bed, arms resting behind his head. He was relaxed but pumped for his mini fashion show.

“It had to be, of course it had to be!” He squirmed.

**_See them walking hand and hand, across the bridge at midnight._ **

The verse kicked in and the model emerged from behind the screen. She was glowing, ethereal, bright blue eyes glistening when locking with John. Renée greeted him with her best front worthy page smile, worth more than a million: priceless.

**_Heads turning as the lights flashing out are so bright._ **

****

She slid aside, Barbarella bouncing on her right hip.

“Mumma!” She sang, lurching a teeny arm forward as though she could grab John.

**_Then walk right out to the fall line track, there’s a camera rolling on her back._ **

“Let’s rock this for Nigel!”

“Oi! For _Mummy_.”

**_On her back._ **

She stuck her tongue out in response. As did John.

**_And I sense the rhythm humming in a frenzy all the way down her spine._ **

****

Renée had paved way for a small catwalk through the huge bedroom. She was quick about it, strutting with her head held high. Latching onto her dirty blonde, teased curls; Barbarella was squealing softly, knowing her Mummy’s eyes were all over her.

**_Girls On Film! Girls On Film._ **

John’s jaw had dropped long ago. They both looked incredible. Renée was dressed in a beige corset top with a leopard print jacket hanging loosely from her shoulders. Her hair was teased, swept back out of her face. With heavily lined eyes and nude lips, she was stunning and shimmering in her own spotlight.

“Girls On Film!” He blurted, clapping along.

Though John’s spotlight was on them both, tonight.

“Awww, Barbie!”

**_Lipstick cherry all over the lens as she’s falling._ **

She squeaked in response, shyly resting her head atop of Renée’s right shoulder. She began her strut again, being sure to pause and pose right before John. John was chuckling now too, reaching out to touch Barbarella with Renée ducking before Barbarella could reach him.

**_And miles of sharp blue water’s coming in where she lies._ **

****

She pivoted on her heel, taking long and confident strides back to the end of the ‘catwalk’. Whirling around, both Renée and Barbarella pouted; John couldn’t help but snigger.

**_The diving man’s coming up for air, cos’ the crowd all love pulling dolly by the hair._ **

“She really loves tuggin’ your hair, Ren!”

**_By the hair._ **

Barbarella was dressed in a matching little leopard print dress, really resembling Renée’s mini-me. John was elated, giggling like a mad man as again Renée took the floor moments later; dressed in zebra stripes this time.

**_And she wonders how she ever got here as she goes under again._ **

****

She glided up and down the catwalk, Barbarella right there with her, shining in her own spotlight. She even managed to ‘walk’ herself, clutching tight to Auntie Renée’s hands as the supermodel bent down and shuffled down the catwalk with her leading the way.

**_Girls On Film!_ **

“That’s it, that’s it baby! You’re doing it!” John chirped, now on his knees before her and Barbarella came toddling over.

**_Girls On Film._ **

She fell, Renée picked her up. She found her second wind, Renée let her go.

**_Wider baby smiling, you just made a million._ **

“That’s it, come to Mummy. Come to Mummy!” John encouraged her, beady eyes wide and arms outstretched.

**_Fuse is pumping live heat, twisting out on the wire._ **

****

Those final three steps were mesmerising. Barbarella took them completely alone, head held high. John was sure there was even a little hip action going there! Now dressed in a fancy little black number, Barbarella landed in his arms, chuckling wildly. He bought his baby girl in, hugging her tight.

**_Take one last glimpse into the night, I’m touching close I’m holding bright._ **

Kissing her cheek softly, John caught sight of Renée; throughly glowing in her matching sequin number.

**_Holding tight._ **

Hoisting his daughter into the air, John quickly span her as she showered him with adorable giggles and cries.

**_Gives me shudders in a whisper, I’m coming closer._**

“Absolutely beautiful.” The supermodel’s voice was soft; in awe.

**_Take me out till I’m shooting a star!_ **

John kissed her cheek too before handing Barbarella back to her Auntie Renée to get changed for their finale number.

  
  
_**Shooting a star!** _

Before slipping from his sight, Renée quipped: “I told you she could do it!”

“You did, yeah. Now I’m so happy you asked if you could shoot with her, now I can see that she can do it.”

Chuckling, “of course! _Versace_ needed a baby model for me to hold, to match me. I couldn’t think of anyone more,” Renée broke off, tickling Barbarella, “anyone more _perfect!_ I’m glad you came around, John. I know it’s not what everybody wants for a child.”

“So am I. She’s a natural! Plus, I gotta _hell_ of a show.” He waggled his brows, heated glare roaming her curvy body.

“Watch it!” Renée laughed that beautiful laugh, matching John’s own pitch. “Now Barbie, we have one more look for Mummy!”

“Yay!” She chimed, hands back to clawing at Renée’s teased locks. “Auntie Ren!”

She shot John a final front page worthy pout before slipping behind the screen. He scrambled back onto the bed, so excited to see what look his two fashion queens would come up with next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been wanting to write a ‘mini-me’ style photoshoot session with Renée and Barbie for a while now. This seemed like a nice fit.
> 
> That’s not to say John and Barbie aren’t doing any more photo ops, I need that in my life so bad!


	21. Mummy’s Cool Hat!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John’s little bugger (and Simon) will stop at nothing to make him laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is loosely based off of an idea I had months ago with @allmywill. I’ve been eager to write Barbie ‘stealing Mummy’s cool hat’ for a good couple months now. Finally, I have that!

**Prompt Day 21:** Laugh

_Backstage at BBC’s Top Of The Pops Christmas, December 1986_

Hearty laughter rang through his ears, all the way from where John was stood at the buffet table to Simon and Nick in the far corner of the grand dressing room. John loaded up a couple of plates for the three of them full of snacks, sandwiches, fruits and chocolates. He clung to the merry little giggles that flowed merrily on the breeze, boxy black jacket swaying slightly as he skipped back over to them.

“Here’s Mummy!” Simon’s voice was light, airy, John was sure his eyes were on the sandwiches as opposed to him. “Wait John, listen to this. She’s never done this to me, before.”

“What?” John’s smile inched across his face, a warmth pooling in his chest.

“ _This is Planet Earth, you’re lookin’ at Planet Earth_ \- take it baby!”

Her little mouth dropped open, John’s jaw followed suit.

“Bop bop _bop!_ ” She chimed, John was quick to ogle over her.

“Oh wow!” He clapped, attention fully on his little angel. “That was… weird but y’know, great! The bop-bops!” He was howling, a strange sense of pride filling John.

Barbarella stuck her tongue out at John, who followed suit. She well, Simon as he was holding it up, was wearing John’s newly adorned black trilby hat. It was hanging off of her teeny head, the rim being held up by Simon’s fingertip.

“Hey do I... you know...” John trailed off, eyes no longer on Simon and Nick. Both of their gazes sealed in on the bassist, who’s own gaze had dropped to his stomach. He didn’t have any hands free to palm himself but the sorrow in his shoulders and pain inking it’s way across his face said enough.

Simon answered for them both, “you look great Johnny. Really.”

He bought his gaze up, little bulging stomach now starting to show. Not that John had really gotten rid of the last one.

“Show Mummy your new cool hat!” Nick was quick to cut the tension, egging Barbarella on, shuffling over so John could sit between he and Simon; plastic plates in hand.

“ _Your_ new cool hat?” John exclaimed, eyeing Barbarella, “that’s _my_ cool hat!”

“Not anymore, John.” Simon nudged him, snatching the chocolate brownies he held. Then, mouth half full, he spat: “it’s Barbie’s now!”

“Yeah!” Barbarella squeaked, clapping, obviously agreeing with Daddy.

John’s gaze narrowed. He pouted.

“But that’s my hat!” He tried not to chuckle, pawing for the tuna sandwich in his lap. “It’s _mine!_ ”

Barbarella was giggling in Simon’s grasp now, she really was rocking the hat look.

“Oh, but can I wear it a wittle bit more Mummy, please? Pwease, pwease, _pweeeeease?!_ ” Simon waggled their baby girl a tad, tickling her sides, through this weird nasally voice he sometimes put on that to John just meant ‘baby girl on steroids.’ Creepy.

He couldn’t help but snigger. Though, key to keep his character going; he huffed then pouted. “Aww right! But Mummy needs it for the show!” He found himself joining in, tickling Barbarella’s sides ever so softly with his free hand.

“Good!” Simon piped up, “now that’s settled. Where’s the chicken?”

John pushed Simon’s plate towards him, causing Simon’s grip on the hat to falter. He shifted over to John, their fingers brushing in that cliché way which still had John melting on the inside when—

“Barbie! What is it?”

She shrieked. John sniggered.

“Oh, you can’t see!” Simon was quick to pry the hat from her head, the world around her so no longer so dark and scary. “Wait a moment.”

Simon dropped the hat around Barbarella’s eyes, she cried.

Simon picked up the hat, she giggled.

Dropped it, cried.

Picked it up, giggled.

“I’m starting to see a trend, here!” Simon ‘whispered’ John’s way, who in turn was laughing at all the expressive emotions painting his baby’s face. She was ever so confused!

Barbarella got the hint soon enough though, using her own teeny fingertips and super duper strong muscles to keep the hat from dropping on her so Mummy was in sight. John fed her a little of his sandwich whilst she happily cackled, fingertips wrapped tight round his hat.

“Wait there,” Nick pulled his camera out from nowhere. “Smile!”

John snuggled up closer to Simon, head falling onto his shoulder blade. Nick captured the happy somewhat family nicely, being sure to get some cute shots of his niece’s super cool hat.

The minutes passed and the closer they were to performing. _Top Of The Pops_ was always good for them, they had never missed a show they had been asked to participate in.

“John, I don’t think you’re getting that hat back anytime soon.” Nick noted, Barbarella still clutching the trilby hat tight.

Laughing, he sent his gaze back to his baby girl; who met it with wide eyes and a gleaming smile.

“I’ll wrestle her, nick it. You guys watch my back, this could get ugly!”


	22. Lonely Photographic Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John’s surely never been so lonely in his nightmare, without baby Barbarella to hold.

**Prompt Day 22:** Alone

_New York, Winter 1985_

Without warning, he’s bombarded by endless screams; tossed about side to side. Shepherded through car door after door, hands touching, hands roaming; touch ups and make up. A perfect smile. He’s awake, he’s in the room, though when is he ever really truly there?

He’s in his chair, blinded by the lights. Makeup, hair, makeup, hair. Mullet teased to the high heavens, lips glossy and eyes sparkling: he’s ready. He’s picked up, stumbling down the corridor, he’s pointed to a chair, he stumbles across his set.

Black screens, a wooden chair; he straddles it. He rolls about, getting comfy, unable to find that spot. He rolls about, is ordered about, working to pose and perfect his pose. Black screens, a wooden chair; he takes his place and awaits the flash. The blind, the stark white throbbing beneath his abused eyelids. He’s already gone, mind a jumble, limbs sinew and body a mess.

He’s sitting there, following orders. He’s sitting there, reeling it in shot after shot. He’s sitting there, physical presence met in the room; wondering if he’s really there.

She’s not. Why should she be? She didn’t need to be. She’s too fragile, too precious, too teeny to be out in this cold hearted world, stunned by the dizzying lights he’s forced under; tears in wild streams as he sat there unable to comfort her.

His mind’s never clear anymore. It never really has been though, has it? Whatever he used before to numb the pain, it doesn’t have the same effects on him now. Nowadays it’s vile sleep schedules, if any sleep is in order. Midnight feedings, a messy apartment; stewing about, lolling about, he’s in bits if he’s honest with himself. A revolving door for model after model. Interviewer after interviewer. He doesn’t live like that anymore, he can’t. His mind is too shattered for that, he’s becoming more and more of a recluse each and every day.

Though today’s shoot is hypocritical of that, juxtaposing that, this one should mean something. The fans need to know that he’s still here, he still has fans or so he thinks. He knows they’re dwindling, he knows there isn’t interest now. He can’t accept that yet. So he compromises, half dead, half baked; he’s here. He’s taking the shots, he’s giving his word on the music he’s not making. On the tour that could’ve ruined him. He’s here, selling his soul.

He never could’ve thought that any other time after those hellish, gruelling nine months somewhat bound to his own inflicted self isolation; could be worse. He never could’ve thought anything would be worse than that. Though now, he’s empty. He’s tired, lumbered and strained.

He’s more alone than ever now without her. He needs her here, needs to be feeding and soothing her; putting her down for the night. He needs her to hold tight, he craves that contact, her smooth skin brushing up against his cheek. She’s somebody who will never leave him.

He’s more alone than ever now, photos down and journalists out the way. He’s walking out of the joint, awaiting to be bombarded again. Though all those kids may still want him, the world choosing to remember he’s still here: John’s surely never been so lonely in his nightmare, without baby Barbarella to hold.


	23. No Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon’s upset John knocked over his and Barbarella’s LEGO tower.

**Prompt Day 23:** Revenge

_Simon’s London House, Summer 1990_

There was a shrill scream, Simon dropped all that he was holding. He practically sprinted to the front room, knowing that sound hadn’t come from Barbarella. That only meant—

“Christ, John? You’ll wake Barbie up, the hell happened?”

The bassist was red in the face, clutching at his foot. For a moment, flashes of glass, flying shards, filled Simon’s memory. Blood oozing out of the bassist. He shook his head and they were gone.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

“What did I say?!” John was hopping, clutching his foot. Simon could only snigger. “Why are there friggin’ _LEGO_ bricks everywhere?!”

“ _LEGO_?!” Simon’s jaw dropped. “Nooooo! You knocked over Barbie’s tower?!” Simon yelled though inwardly he was laughing. It was _his_ tower really. John didn’t need to know that.

“Ummmm…”

“Jo-ohn!” He whined. “That took me, _us,_ three days! Who are you, Bambi?”

“... Yeah.”

Simon couldn’t help but singer. “Are you crying?!”

“It freakin’ hurts!” John was laughing through the tears.

Holding a hand out, Simon beckoned John over to hold him. Hopping past more pieces, with another ‘fuck me in the ah- _hass_!’ as the knobbly piece pierced John’s heel, the two staggered to seated.

John fell into the sofa first, tugging Simon down with him. The bassist put his leg up onto Simon’s lap, silently demanding Simon massage his aching foot. He rolled his baby blues, chuckling as John silently insisted; pouting.

Simon got to work, massaging John’s heel, listening to the hisses and moans that slipped from the bassist’s pinky lips.

“Well, I guess that’s what you get for knocking over the tower.”

“What is?” John murmured, ever so relaxed.

“This!”

Simon’s fingers descended to the arch of John’s foot. Merciless, ruthless, his blunt nails were raking all over the tender flesh, deftly avoiding John’s reflexes: poorly kicking out at him.

“Ah, fuck! Charley!” John was hiccuping through his laughter, Simon’s fingers only continued their abuse. “Sto-op! I’m gonna… gonna… gah!”

Simon did no such thing.

Instead the front man hopped aboard, finger tips running wild up John’s skin on bone frame. The bassist was laughing hysterically, eyes cloudy with tears, desperate to buck Simon off. Desperate to enjoy this intimacy.

“Some revenge, huh?”

“Revenge?!” John spat, clawing at Simon’s skin, nails still raking over his sides. “You’ll… you… you’ll _kill_ me!”

Simon momentarily pulled back with a snort, John inhaled using the one chance he was given too.

“I can live with that.” Simon spoke, the look on John’s face telling him that he wasn’t sure whether Simon was joking.

Maybe Simon wasn’t joking.


	24. Tired Eyes, Like An Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barbarella loses her first tooth, Simon plays Tooth Fairy.

**Prompt Day 24:** Teeth

_Simon’s London House, Autumn 1990_

“But Daddy! I’m too excited to sleep!” Barbarella giggled as Simon eased her down into her pillows. She flashed him a huge smile, now there was a wonderful little gap in her bottom row of teeth. She had been wiggling that incisor for a couple days now, finally it was out!

Chuckling, hands running through her rumpled blonde locks; Simon couldn’t help himself. “You have too, baby! Otherwise the tooth fairy won’t come!”

“Tooth fairy?” Her blonde brows furrowed. She pouted, a direct carbon copy of baby Nigel. Simon smiled softly.

“Yeah! She comes to every child,” he paused to tickle her chest, small giggles dropping from her pinky lips. “She comes and when they’re fast asleep, she flies down under the pillow, takes the tooth and leaves a special something under it in the tooth’s place.” His voice was light, airy, narrating the story.

Barbarella’s chocolate browns were wide, wonder writ across her tiny face. “Wow!”

“Yeah!” Simon laughed, as he shifted to bring the blankets up Barbarella’s slim frame. “So you _have_ to try get some sleep, she won’t come otherwise! We don’t want that now, do we, Barbie?”

“No Daddy!” She giggled.

Leaning down, Simon swiftly pressed his lips to her forehead; breaking away he inwardly smiled: she was yawning.

“Sleep tight, baby girl.” His smooth hands straightened out the blanket, he rose from the side of the bed.

“Can you leave the lamp on?” Barbarella pointed, mesmerised by the rotating stars and moon, illuminating her side of the bed.

Simon nodded, smiling wide.

“Goodnight, Barbarella.”

Her voice was small, bleary, slowly nodding off as she pressed her cheek into her pillow. “G’nite… _Daddy_.”

Creeping away from her bed, Simon couldn’t help but grin as he ran a finger down to his jeans pocket. Her pound coin was burning a hole in it, he couldn’t wait to sneak back in within a couple hours; to leave Barbarella her little gift.


	25. Kiss From A Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rose from a secret admirer, might just be enough for Diana to start believing in love.

**Prompt Day 25:** Flowers

_London, February 2002_

  
Waltzing down the street, she clutched tight to the single ruby rose she held; smiling wide and light on her feet. She had never been one for romantic gestures, never really believing in romance. Simon and Yasmin were one thing though their love was incredibly rare and special, they worked hard and now they have a beautiful family to show for it. Love like theirs is rare, she knows it.

That doesn’t mean she’ll hold back her rain now, practically gliding up the drive. The petals were silky smooth under her deft fingertips. Unlocking the front door, she slipped inside; on her way to cut the stem and find a vase. A small, slim one, where the rose could really shine.

Running into John was not what she had in mind.

“The hell are you doing here? I thought you and Dad were in Paris another week, recording?”

“He is, I missed you.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t help the wide smile that painted her face, surely she was glowing. If she hadn’t been before, she most certainly was now. “You didn’t want to be with him over Valentines did you? In Paris of all places, huh?”

A small look of sorrow crossed his face. He dropped his head, shrugging.

“I thought you’d…” _gotten over that years ago?_ “Never mind. C’mere.”

Diana held out her hands before practically tackling John, jumping up into his grip. He span her, laughing, before putting her down complaining about his back.

“You old tart.” She sniggered, gaze falling back to her rose. By the quizzical brow, John had noticed it too.

“Who’s that from?” John leant forward, fingertips brushing a solemn petal before retreating. Diana shrugged, she really had no clue. “Secret admirer?”

With a giggle, “I guess so! I honestly have no clue, Mum. It’s a lovely gesture though, y’know?”

John smiled broadly at that. She had read countless articles from back in the day, knowing he loved to romance his women, to compensate for never really being interested in much more. For never really sleeping with them and remembering their name in the morning, that meant. Though those lack of sexual desires wouldn’t stop him making the effort, however sad it may now seem. He would wine and dine his women, would flaunt crazy cheques and pick up the tab. However sad it may seem now, he needed to do it. For his image. So he could keep whatever he had with Simon at that point, out of the press.

Diana, on some crazy level no matter how insane it was sure to drive her; was really beginning to understand that now. She could never understand the pain it must’ve bought John, bought them both, though.  
  


She shook her head, wiping the slate clean. John must have been talking to her, he had that look on his face which meant he was expecting an answer.

“I’m sorry?”

Rolling his eyes, “you’re simply _besotted_ with the thing.” His voice was light, he was laughing.

“Yeah, so?”

“You know I’m gonna have to approve the bastard before you even—”

“—Jo- _ohn_!” She whined, throwing her head back with a chuckle. “Thought Simon was the over protective one!”

John hummed, before settling his gaze back on Diana. She was still glowing, how magnificent.

“We’ll see about that, baby. Put in a vase, you don’t want it to die, you know?”

Nodding, Diana skipped past. Not without stopping to give John a quick kiss on the forehead, he chuckled as he watched her leave. There was a whole new spring in her step, she was surely floating. She was also certain that John was judging her, amused to see her in such a way. Tough exterior being chipped away, smiling and even blushing in a way her Mother had never really seen from her before.

She had hungry wolf eyes too, a look John knew all too well. If only Diana knew just _who_ they were lusting over…


	26. Spitting Image

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who’s idea was it for her to dress up as John anyways?

**Prompt Day 26:** Costume

_Halloween 2002_

“Maybe this wasn’t a good costume idea after all, huh?”

Standing before the full length mirror, Diana couldn’t help but erupt into her own laughing fit. The more Yasmin tried to hold her giggles in, the harder it became to keep quiet.

“I don’t think you did, Di.” The supermodel chuckled, brown eyes roaming over her figure.

“Get Mum in here, pronto. Knew I should’ve dressed as Dad in _The Chauffeur!_ ”

Yasmin rolled her eyes, calling for John to get his ‘lazy arse up here’ all while Diana tried to make herself decent. Though it was hard without any trousers on, hands tied in the flimsy material.

“Alright, alright I’m—” John stumbled into the bedroom, eyes broadening. “Good Lord!”

His laughter met that of Yasmin’s, stating she’d leave them alone for a little Mother-Daughter bonding time.

“How did you…?” John’s voice trailed off, sniggering.

He was stood face to face with his sixteen year old, lost in his old stage outfit. John’s _Sing Blue Silver_ monstrosity of a shirt, the purple striped fabric he’d customised himself back in the day, was currently swallowing Diana’s frame.

Her arms were up above her head, hands tied in the purple. John couldn’t even see the red fabric.

“Baby?” John prompted, still smiling like a tit.

“Stop laughin’ at me!” She spat, trying to flail her arms. “How the fuck did you get into this every show?!”

Tossing his head back, John’s laughter rang free. Diana really was a sight. Too long white button down shirt hanging loose, no trousers, flustered and a little pink in the face. He couldn’t be in love with her more.

“Hey, Nigel!”

Shaking his head, “what?”

“ _Help_ me!” Her voice bought him out of his daydream, John shot to her side.

He was laughing softly as together they untangled her. Unraveled her, stripping her. Though he pointlessly averted his gaze, John still couldn’t help but giggle as she shucked back on his white shirt.

“Nice legs, is that a new tan?” She whacked him, John could only laugh harder.

“You creep!”

“Sounds ‘bout right,” John conceded her point, “you know?”

Diana slipped herself into the vintage pair of leather trousers, John watching her closely. Much like how he used too, she let slip a small moan: jaw slack as she worked the fabric up her thin thighs. Then John was on his knees, securing his own red bandana right above her knee.

“Why did you even?” Diana trailed off, pointing to the bandana now wrapped around her.

“Wear this?” John shrugged. “Who bloody knows!”

“And now.” Holding out her hands, Diana offered him his own iconic material.

Stepping in behind her, both John and Diana faced the mirror as his fingertips thread the ruby sash through the white loops on her shoulders. Running his fingertips down the collar, John smoothed out the fabric before securing the cloth in the belt loops. Next came the purple striped fabric. Diana’s eyes were wide as they trailed John’s movements, threading the fabric across her body.

Their eyes met in the mirror, John crowding her with a hand on her shoulder. Her hair was teased, she even had blonde frosted tips much like John did way back when. Her eyes were smokey, pillar box lips spreading into a wild smile. John did just the same.

“I need a wristband.”

John couldn’t help but cackle. “Of course you need a bloody wristband!”

She was quick on her feet, pawing through the abandoned cosmetics and pictures of John from the tour that lay atop of her dressing table. He chuckled as Diana slid the white wristband on. Rolling her sleeves up, the wristband needed to shine.

There was a knock at the door. “Can I come in?”

“Sure!”

Simon slipped in, eyes wide. Jaw dropping, he comically looked back and forth between John and Diana. John. Diana. John. Diana.

“Crikey! She looks just like you Johnny, a carbon copy!”

Sniggering, “yeah well… _we_ made her.”

“I’m right here, y’know!” The happy family erupted into fits of laughter, Diana really did resemble the endless _Sing Blue Silver_ shots of John. All that she needed now was to slap that bass!

Grabbing the gear, the three of them headed down to join Yasmin in the front room. Diana practically sprinted about the room, for photos and last minute touch ups.

“At least it’s not an overly _sexy_ costume. Tits out and all.” Simon whispered, very loudly.

“ _Sure_ it’s not.”

“Who’s idea even was it for you to dress up as me anyways, baby?”

Smiling, a direct carbon copy of John, “the squad wanted an eighties theme. I wasn’t even there when they decided on dressing up as you lot! Can you even imagine how weird this is for me?!”

“Christ, I can’t wait to see those photos!” Yasmin piped up, ruffling Diana’s teased locks. “Who’s Charley?!”

“Yeah!” Simon added. “Who’s Charley?!”

“You’ll find out in the morning.” Diana winked, camera in hand.

And then she was out the door, headed to her Sixth Form’s Halloween party.

“Thank stars it’s not a sexy costume.” John murmured into Simon’s ear, at the door.

“It’s not, no!” Diana yelled back, having heard him. “That’s for Andrew on Saturday night!”

“What!” Simon was close to following her, ready to knock some sense into her. John and Yasmin held him back; over protective (and stupid) as always.

She stuck up two wonderful fingers at them both, then carried on strolling into the dead of night.

“Still can’t believe she’s shagging the guitarist’s son… blimey.”

John barked out his laughter. “Hey! I don’t need to be picturin’ that!”

“You realise that if they ever tied the knot, you’ll finally be related to one of your Taylors.”

John’s eyes were bulging out of their sockets, behind the frames. “We’ve gotta get that boy.”

With a snort, “that we do Johnny, that we do. Any idea what she’s planning on wearing for him on Halloween? Or what she’s _not_ wearing?!”

John swallowed audibly. Neither parent needed to be pitching that. “I’d rather stick with the _Sing Blue Silver_ outfit, Charley.”

Simon’s chuckles were sealed in, shuffling John to one side so he could lock his front door. “Wise choice Johnny, wise choice.”


	27. Finding Birthday Treasures, In The Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon always knows when John’s distant, it’s about time he puts a stop to it for his own sanity.

**Prompt Day 27:** Midnight

 **Pairing:** John/Simon

_Downtown London, October 1984_

Bursting through the doors, lips sealed to his neck and Simon was being dragged into delirium. John’s mouth was stained with drink, he shivered as he tasted it on his tongue. Simon winced, pulling away to slam the room door shut. John planted his lips to Simon’s again, the front man winced in surprise. They were blindly stripping each other, hands raking over nude skin and knees going week. Their lips parted Simon so could yank his grey shirt off, using the cotton neck piece to yank John back over before he ran too far. He was giggling up against Simon’s cheek, clammy hands running down the bulge in the front man’s leathers.

Simon pushed him away. John nodded to their hotel bed.

The bassist threw himself atop it first, giving Simon a moment to breathe. He could always tell when John had been drinking too much, when he was trying so hard to get ready for him, when whatever was flushing his system wouldn’t let him. When his lips were kissing but he wasn’t really kissing; wasn’t pressing his body in like Simon knew John could.

A swoosh of fabric bought Simon out of his daydream, John was lying with a small strain showing in those white boxers. He was sweating, panting; fingertips teasing himself through the thin fabric.

With a sigh, Simon clambered aboard.

John yanked him down by the mullet, taking them on a roll. Simon groaned, John was distant: all he could taste was the vodka on his tongue. The bassist was whining as the singer’s plush lips began the trail down his jawline, it was no where near as profound as Simon remembered. The bassist keened as the singer’s traitorous lips danced further down into the fire, Simon wincing as he trailed over the new mushy planes of John’s stomach. The bulges, the alcohol that Simon knew was ruining him. Finally, John’s drinks were really beginning to show.

John screamed as Simon finally made contact, teeth tugging at the fabric of his boxers and leaving their mark. Simon coughed out as a sloppy hand was in his hair, trying to push him even further into John, Simon wasn’t having it. He retreated, panting, earning him a dark glare from the spaced out bassist.

Simon cleared his throat, avoiding his gaze. This was always the part where he had to decide: get off in John’s sloppy mouth and leave, or sort himself out in another room. The sight of John, the pain written across his face as his erection subsided; told Simon to bail.

“Fuckin’ cokehead.” He roared, under his breath.

John was too blissed out to notice.

“N-no luv, I’m…” the bassist sent a quivering hand down, to palm himself. The look of despair, embarrassment, whatever, coated his face; Simon scoffed. “Oh... I’m not, y’know, _fine_.”

“No John, you’re not.” Simon was on his feet, beginning the quest for dropped clothes and shoes. “You’re gonna _kill_ yourself with that crap someday.”

Though Simon’s back was turned and he was silently, that didn’t stop him from hearing John’s weak whine. From hearing the bedside cabinet opening, a rustle, a sniff then a snort. Simon’s blood was boiling, his lips dropping open to scream.

He span around, ready to sock John one, purple striped shirt in hand when—

“Oh for fuckssake, John.” He groaned, shucking on his shirt in haste.

The bassist had passed the fuck out, little remnants of John’s magic crystals having stuck themselves to his nose. Simon could’ve screamed, could’ve slapped him. His heart was racing and head still sweaty, his own erection simply dropping off in a whole other kind of frustration. He momentarily debated whether to leave John there limp and lifeless, in every sense of the word.

Biting into his bottom lip, ironically Simon found himself stifling a tear. He breathed out, it was shaky, it was pained. “We can’t keep going on like this Johnny,” he whispered, heading to the side of the bed. “We can’t.”

Simon opened the draw. They had both been sharing this suite for a week, they were both back and forth for different promotional purposes for _Arena;_ the release date was creeping upon them both. It meant that Simon couldn’t be by John to watch him through the partying, to guard him through his flings, to stand there helpless from the wings as John rioted on his own stage, powdered help sailing him through the encore.

Simon was done, staring blankly at the white fluff in the drawer. The mounds appeared so peaceful, so tranquil; that you could never really guess how deadly they could become. Simon couldn’t know that yet, either.

In a fit of rage, at John or himself he wasn’t sure, though he vowed he wouldn’t do this again: Simon’s fingertips were trembling as he trickled the crystals, rolling them about. He shucked them into a line, grabbing John’s blade and straw.

Simon found himself kneeling, gathering up John’s dust. He found himself hunching over, body trembling, swallowing down more tears.

“Let’s see what… Christ,” Simon broke off in a wail, hands swiping away his tears of defeat. “W-what John… what all the _fuss_ is about.”

Simon inhaled. Simon convulsed.

His pulse was thrumming, he was blinking rapid and the skates over took him. Simon found himself racing to the door, shirt still hanging open and leathers unbuttoned. He hadn’t a clue where he was going but at the same time he knew absolutely fucking where, maybe John could find him in another woman’s bed in the morning. Imagine that.

It all came to an abrupt halt, the little blinking red light beside John’s head catching his eye. Simon strut back over to crouch before the alarm clock.

“00:01 huh?” He shook his head, his hands were trembling. Sending a dark glare over to the passed out bassist, Simon inhaled deep. With a shaky exhale his voice grated, he was enraged even more so than before. “Happy _Birthday_ to me. Thanks Johnny, thanks for the gift.”

He was up and out of there, slamming their hotel suite door shut. Simon wouldn’t be returning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy freaking Birthday to Le King!! We love you, your madness, your craziness, your inability to keep still or to keep yourself from touching John; The Notorious SLB!! And an early birthday wish for Yasmin too, lots of love to the Le Bons as always!! 💙😝👑


	28. Little Pumpkin Terrors!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’re a family of cute pumpkins...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a little canon idea I had with both @popsmart and @technicolour_romantics on tumblr. Let’s just imagine trick or treating was a thing in England in the sixties!

**Prompt Day 28:** Treat

 **Pairing:** John/Simon

_Halloween, London 1986_

“We’re ready!”

Simon burst in through the door, a very chirpy baby girl in his arms. John squealed, upping from his seat in a flash. He was at Simon’s side ever so quickly, own hand on his stomach, the other reaching for Barbarella.

“Oh wow!” John was already emotional, kissing Barbarella’s little cheek. “Our baby pumpkin!”

She squeaked in response, hands flying forward to clasp at John’s mullet. Simon handed her over, helping John to cradle her in her little costume.

“She looks just like you, Johnny.”

Barbarella was more than ready for their little Halloween party, dressed in a bright orange frock with a smiley face carved into the dress. She had a teeny tulle skirt and a matching tiny pumpkin bag for her treats dangling from Simon’s palm.

“She does?” John piped up, sending her another cheeky glance.

“Yeah! How old were you in that little pumpkin costume?”

John found himself flushing, crooking a finger over to mask his own insecurities. Simon kissed him, quick, Barbarella giggling softly between them to remind them she was there too. She didn’t need to get squished!

“I dunno, maybe… three? Four? Definitely older than her, you know?” John babbled softly to Barbarella, she was taking in every word. “You look _much_ better than me baby! Yes you do, yes you do!”

The little bugger laughed at him!

“The _little pumpkin terror of Hollywood,_ you were Nigel.” John found himself sniggering at Simon’s teasing tone, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“That Nigel was, yes. Major sugar high.”

“I really wish I could’ve seen that. Little Nigel, totting about going trick or treating… what an image!”

“Yes! Now, shall we?” Simon waggled his brows, chocolates in hand.

“We have pumpkin costumes to get into… why did I let you talk me into that? Whatever happened to _Batman_?”

“Dadda!” Barbarella perked up, beady eyes landing on the treats Simon held.

“No!” Simon shoved his chocolate behind his back, much to Barbarella’s chagrin. “Not for you, sweetie!”

She pouted in silent retaliation. A spitting image of baby Nigel.

“She crawled to the pumpkin dress and you were set on it, after you saw me baby photos. You wanted her lookin’ the same, Charley!”

“Oh right… Barbie, hey!” She squealed again, grabby hands set on the chocolate. The forbidden fruit.

“For _me?_ ” John cackled, mouth dropping open.

With a cheeky smirk, Simon fumbled with the wrapping paper to open the _Cadbury’s_ bar behind his back so Barbarella couldn’t see.

“Hey now Barbie, woo, look at _that!_ ” Simon spat, pointing as she craned her little head; pumpkin stork hat slipping down her face.

John opened wide, sniggering as Simon placed the tiny blocks of heaven on his tongue. Barbarella turned back to John, confused at what Simon was pointing at. John couldn’t help but giggle, swallowing down his little treat.

“We’re really _cruel_ parents Simon, you know?”

Smirking, “maybe Johnny, maybe.” He wagged his brows, before stuffing a line of chocolate blocks into his own gob. “Let’s get into those damn pumpkin costumes, we have to be at Nick’s in an hour.”

  
“You know you love ‘em, Charley.”

“You deserve a slap on your bulging orange ass.”

With a snort, “ha! You’ll have to catch us first, c’mon Barbie let’s run!”

John dashed out of there, giggling like crazy; heading straight to Simon’s bedroom. He and Barbarella, chuckling softly to mock Daddy, were little pumpkin terrors, indeed.


	29. In The Driver’s Seat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s the stand out girl in the chorus line. In fact there is no chorus line; they’re all _her _backing dancers.__

**Prompt Day 29:** Need

 **Pairing:** John/Simon

_Vegas Strip, August 2007_

Taking Simon’s hand in his own, John swallowed what he could of his nerves as the front man clutched him tight. His mind was running wild, trying to keep smiling. _I need to do this for Barbarella, I need to be there for her. She deserves it._

Though at first John had been thrilled to come, the reality of flying to Vegas, booking a table, getting dressed up to party the night away besides Simon was really nerve wracking. Together they were both dressed in sleek suits jackets, Simon with a skinny animal print scarf and John with one extra button popped. Now they were stood in line, inching closer to that velvet rope.

“Simon and John, we’re on the VIP list.” Simon winked, hand holding tight onto John’s arm. He nodded to the bouncer as the rope was lifted, John letting out a deep breath as together they slipped inside.

Inside the ritzy joint, they were bathed in ruby strobe lights, soft orange candlelight. The tables were decorated with diamond vases, crystalline chandeliers dangled above them. Satin cloaks were embroidered in luxe pattern work, golden tassels wound around the curtains. Before them stood a grand stage, gleaming antique stone work framing the rich velvet curtains. They were still drawn, they had just moments until the show.

They were guided to their table, Simon ordered a whisky and John _Sprite_ , reserved right at the foot of the stage. Their placards were inked in glistening gold, an elegant serif font. Before them lay a vase, a red rose lying beside with a white one; stems interviewing, petals intertwining. The candles were lit, wispy flames lost amongst the air, dissipating, not before pointing toward the enchanting stage.

The bassist’s gaze dropped to a little note, folded neatly under the napkin. Cautiously, he retrieved it, nodding to Simon as together they both read:

_Their’s a new girl in the driver’s seat, tonight._

Confused, John and Simon took their seats, holding hands under the table; lost amongst the regal satin table cloth. Their chairs were angled perfectly towards the stage, John let his head drop onto Simon’s jacketed shoulder with a sigh.

He let his eyes droop closed, inhaling another breath. _I need to do this for Barbarella, I need to be there for her._

The lights softened, a single harsh spotlight came into focus. Pulling John from his dreamlike state, both he and Simon focused their gazes to the stage floor.

_She deserves it. My baby girl deserves it._

A spotlight flickered, women were on stage. Two poles; two women. A third standing in the centre, with a chair. She perched atop it, legs spread wide; cap covering her eyes. She was clicking, in time to the harsh beat, tinkling keys and flutes.

**_When the sun drips down, bedded heavy behind. The front of your dress all shadowy lined._ **

John sent a glance Simon’s way, ever so slowly. Mouth dropping open, Simon’s own eyes bulging wide.

**_And the droning engine throbs in time, with your beating heart._ **

“ _Barbarella_.” John breathed, in awe.

She rose from her seat, straddling it. Tossing her head back, a hand on her head to keep the cap in place; her whole body rolled its way sensually to the floor. She bobbed once, twice, before jerking back up to standing. Legs spread, head bowed. Before gliding across, one leg bent, one leg extended; the hand on her cap securing it in place.

**_Way down the lane away, living for another day.  
The aphids swarm up in the drifting haze._ **

****

The two dancers at her sides were majestic, long limbs kicking out softly and beautiful bodies contorting. They slowly worked their poles, leather and crystals glistening under the stage light. They too were wearing long gloves, fishnets embroidered with diamanté clutching to their lean legs. They weren’t here to shine, they were here to shock and seduce. They were sensual, not pulling focus from the star up front.

The star up front, who was really shining. Dressed in a leather corset, encrusted with the finest gemstones, beaded stockings, schwarz leather boots and gloves. A black bird cage veil covered both eyes, beneath the cap which glistened when the insignia caught the light.

**_Swim seagull in the sky towards that hollow western isle.  
My envied lady holds you fast in her gaze._ **

She was stunning, dancing as another partner joined her on the stage. They mirrored each other’s actions, raising their palms, bodies rutting. Before she broke away in haste, watching her envied lady; smokey eyes hooded and satin lips darkened.

**_And the sun drips down bedding heavy behind.  
The front of your dress, all shadowy lined._ **

“She looks…” John murmured, pulling Simon in close.

“ _Incredible_.” The front man breathed, eyes glued to their daughter; illuminated in the white glow.

  
**_And the droning engine throbs in time, with your beating heart._ **

The two men were astounded, astonished, holding their breath as both sets of eyes raked over the dancers. Their movements were staccato, robotic, yet with a fluidity that carried each and every movement through as each dancer told their story. The women were rocking, lips parted and legs braced; just daring to be touched. Watching their lover’s part, feeling them smiling.

**_Sing, Sing Blue Silver._ **

****

Diana broke away. She mirrored her partner perfectly, grinding, accentuating every curve. She whirled around, back flush with the other woman’s chest as down the body she crept, legs stretched and arse in the air. She rose back up to standing as the infamous mutterings filled the club, the set alight with tinkly music and tantalising flute solos.

**_There’s more to this type of camouflage, more than just colour and shape._ **

Both John and Simon knew what was coming, though neither of them had seen a show as grand as this.

Diana and her partner stripped, lacy confinement’s and her chest tattoo matching John’s now on show. Palms were raised, palms were brushed. The two women rocked back and forth, in a patticake motion; before her partner span around. The two women were grinding on each other, rocking slowly. They broke again, the woman gliding away to give Diana her full spotlight back.

In lieu of the infamous Perri Lister, her muscular arms came up about her head. Crossing, she turned to both directions before placing her hands at the side of her head; tossing her cap far. Bracing her hands at her sides, her chest crunched and opened, crunched and opened through the contractions. Then she opened her stance, body under taking much freer movements, feeling the music. Dancing away, in her own spotlight.

The auditorium fell silent, both Simon and John were caught in the trance. Enchanted, almost.

The Chauffeur fizzled out, tinkly tones no more.

“Oh my…”

Cheers, ovation, the entire audience were on their feet. There were whistles too, which John chose not to hear. He was too enamoured, breath taken away; eyes glued to the stage as he too rose to standing. With Simon beside him, clapping away.

“Baby.”

The audience fell back into step, more showgirls filling the stage. The next number was more upbeat, striking colours glistening under the chandeliers. Gemstones, diamonds, crystals; each woman shone bright in their costumes, eyes full of lust and feathers ruffled. 

The next number gave John the chance to get his breath back, he was truly stunned in the best of ways.

“What did you think to her routine, Johnny?” His face splitting smile told Simon everything John couldn’t bring himself to say. “I agree.”

Both men shared gleeful yet knowing smiles, she really was a woman finding her own way. A dancer too; the best of the best. The night crept on, number after number dazzling them both. And yet John had his eyes glued to one chorus member, who really had a spotlight cast upon her dance after dance.

“I’m so glad that she’s going this. Dancing here and loving it.” Simon spoke, before taking a sip.

John watched the ice cubes clink about the glass, then shook his head. “Three summers dancing in a notorious Vegas club, you know I couldn’t be more proud.” 

“We should sneak backstage later!”

“You just want a face full of half naked dancers in sparkly thongs and nipple tassels. What would Yasmin say?”

Simon chuckled. “First off, it’s not that sort of show John! At least, Diana doesn’t have her breasts out like that. And second, Yasmin would say: it’s all yours, Charley!”

John snorted into his _Sprite_. “Of course she would!”

It truly was one of the best nights of his life. Having Simon beside him, watching Diana up there and living her best light in the spotlight. John was ever so thankful that he came her, for her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter that I feel could use a little more context, in terms of my canon.
> 
> During Diana’s summer breaks from university in Birmingham (of all places, she’s bringing John home!) Diana takes to dancing at Burlesque shows. Starting in the UK as her night job, she begins dancing in clubs in the US too, in between both LA and back home. Then comes the summer in which she decides to give Vegas a try, in 2006. This summer is after University, before Diana decides whether to study ballet and dance further or to continue her life as a, highly respected may I add, Vegas showgirl.
> 
> She also meets her man in Vegas. Whoever he may be! 🥰


	30. Some Girls Will, Some Girls Won’t

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana wonders what she should do in first class. Certain opportunities shouldn’t go to waste.

**Prompt Day 30:** Flight

_Above The Atlantic, Summer 2002_

“So this is what first class is like, huh? Fuck me.”

“Oi, watch your language!” John piped up, sending a cheeky glare over the top of the newspaper he had in hand.

“Sure, you’re one to talk… _bitch_.”

“Oi, again!”

Diana winked, John retaliated by sticking his tongue out from the other end of the suite. Rising to her feet, Diana was quick strut over and plop herself into John’s lap, passing endless trays of fancy food and bottles of wine, to much protest.

“What is with you today?” He groaned, as she adjusted the glasses cockeyed on his face.

She snuggled in closer, wrapping her arms around John’s neck. “I just want to make the most of my time with you. Before I have too, you know, _share_ you with your band again.”

John placed the paper down, sending a weird glance Diana’s way.

“What?” She posed, slowly retreating from his hold.

“Oh no you don’t, baby!” John was quick to secure an arm around her waist, stopping her from leaving. In turn, Diana dropped back down into his lap instead of taking the empty seat beside him. “C’mere.”

With a pout, Diana found herself awkwardly craning her neck to rest on John’s bony shoulder.

“You know, you don’t have to feel like that… I’ll still have time for you. I _always_ find time, don’t I?”

“Well, yeah, I know that, it’s just…”

“Simon can’t wait to see you, you know?” At that, the grin couldn’t resist crossing her nude lips. “If anything _I’m_ the one who has to share you!”

The laughter rang free, Diana’s pitch matching John’s perfectly. She found herself giggling into his neck, suddenly he was easing their complementary flight blanket around them both. With a shiver, Diana inched the fabric around them both, noting how John’s insanely long legs were outstretched and creeping out from under the blanket’s end.

Craning his head, “is there anythin’ I can get you that’ll make you feel better?”

She paused, humming. “I don’t know. What’s some good shit for first class and do _not_ say sex in the loo!”

“Loo? No, you use the shower stall. Or the double bed. Your pod, wherever.” John snorted. Diana debated clipping him round the ear. “They expect it.”

“Do I even wanna ask how many times you’ve joined the Mile High—” her voice ended abruptly, the quirk of John’s brow telling her to not even go there. He smirked, Diana shivered. “Christ, John!”

“Well, _that_ is one thing… you better not even think about it missy! You’re too good for that.”

“Am I?”

John considered.

“We are in first class and, you know, there was this cute little—”

“— That’s enough!” John barked, Diana shut up. This time she did clip him round the ear, albeit in good humor.

“Why are all our conversations incredibly _perverse?_ ” Diana cocked a brow, sniggering. “You dirty, old man!”

A beam of pride filled John, he loved his baby so damn much. “I could say order a bottle of—”

“—No!” She answered a little too fast, John was shaking his head.

“It’s okay. You’re not old enough to legally drink back home yet, over the Atlantic doesn’t matter. Come on, have one on me. If that’s what you want, it’s _fine_.”

She pulled away slightly, searching for the truth in John’s gaze, in his words. He smiled, Diana shook her head. “No need. Apple juice will suffice. I bet that tastes so much better in first class.”

Hearty laughter dropped from his lips, John cuddled his baby girl tighter. “Trust me, everything tastes better here. You’ve gotta take advantage of that, you know?”

“… Who’s paying?”

John cocked a brow. “Courtesy of Auntie Nicholas.”

Their gazes met, cheeky and plotting something. “You order one of each on the menu and I’ll do the same! No alcohol, John.”

“No worries baby. You know you can drink in front of me all you want too. I don’t mind.”

She considered, warmth filling her as the words rolled off of her tongue. “I’m very proud of you for getting to that stage… able to keep yourself away from drinks when surrounded by others, Mum.”

“Oh, absolutely. It’s been incredibly _hard_ but…” John’s gaze dropped. “It’s much better this way. Why should I spoil anyone else’s fun? Lord knows I did that enough blasted on that shit anyways.. for years.”

With a wry smile, Diana reached forward to cup his chin. She angled his face back to her own, the sorrow in his gaze immediately brightening up as she smiled in full.

“Order _everything_. Charley can have the left overs!”

If John wasn’t so snuggly, he’d high five her. If Diana wasn’t so snuggly, she’d stake claim to the booth opposite, eyes transfixed as they soared through thick cloud after cloud. She didn’t need to part, she wanted to cling to John so cling to him: she did.


	31. Wilder Than Wild

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eighteen years on, there are some major revelations to be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea why this fic exists but it does, I figured I may aswell post it.

**Prompt Day 31:** Reflections

_In The Studio, Spring 2003_

“You two conceived me atop a fuckin’ _car?_ On a fucking _video_ set?! How am I meant to even watch that damn video, no, no _hear_ that damn song the same ever again?!”

Diana rushed into their rehearsal space, completely ignorant that that the five of them were in there. She didn’t care, she needed to get this off of her chest right now.

She was sure Simon was holding back his laughter. John appeared visibly sick.

Then, she was running low on steam. Having somewhat forgotten they weren’t alone. “Hi Uncles Roger, Nick, Andy.”

Diana cast Andy a glance, who peered over his sunglasses to wink at her. He was incredibly sorry that she had to find out this way, from him, by accident. His son, Andy Jr, had too been lost for words. They had simply been laughing about Simon’s comments about Andy playing patticake with his then one month old; from _The Making Of_ video. Diana asked too much and the guitarist talked too much.

“How do you know that?!” John blurted, giving the game away.

“It’s true?” Diana’s gaze was comically wide, she pivoted on her heel to face Andy again. He nodded once. “What the hell?!”

“Wait a minute.” Nick’s voice grated from the end of the studio, he abandoned his keys. “You always told me that you couldn’t remember when it happened, Nigel.”

John flushed, sending his gaze to the floor muttering something.

“And Charley, I always thought that was far fetched. Nigel wouldn’t ever let you…” Nick straightened up, Andy barked out a laugh and Roger dropped his sticks.

“Holy shit. Charley, I thought it was bullshit! It’s _true?_ That’s how you both… you know I don’t feel comfortable talking about this with Diana here, sorry sweetie.”

“It’s okay.” She nodded to Roger; choosing to stand beside the drummer. “How the hell have you both kept that a _secret_ for so long?!” She spat, still riled.

“Clearly not a good one.” Andy jabbed, now stood beside Diana, hand on her shoulder.

Diana was in a tizzy, neither John nor Simon could speak. “What the hell?!”

“Di, why don’t you just take a min—”

“— I don’t want a minute, Uncle Nick!” Her lined gaze met his, she was panting softly. “Or maybe I do… I feel like I could throw up.”

“No, no don’t. Baby, come here.” John croaked out, he couldn’t quite take a step towards her.

“No child should know just how they came to be.” Simon spoke softly, resting a hand on John’s shoulder who immediately bucked him off. “Di, I know you must be mad but—”

“— Mad? I wish you hadn’t both lied to me about it. And to your band.” She shot back, voice beginning to stable out. Inhaling a deep breath, she took a moment to gather her thoughts. “I always figured Mum was too stoned anyways and couldn’t remember getting pregnant.” She admitted, looking directly through John instead of at him.

Now she stood, backed by Nick and Andy as Roger raised to standing.

“Please tell me… you all _didn’t_ know ‘bout that.” John’s voice was hesitant, he couldn’t look Nick in the eye.

Andy was the first to speak. “Well, we all did think it odd that you _wanted_ to be tied down to that car.”

“It was your idea?” Diana sounded astonished. Though only momentarily. John was gnawing into his bottom lip now, for once Simon was also speechless. “Course it was, Nigel.”

John’s mouth parted as if to say ‘don’t Nigel me’ but closed before any sound could escape.

“How did it happen?” The dreaded question. “I know I was a _mistake_ and all but, don’t you think you both owe me that explanation?” Diana’s gaze had dropped, she was studying her shoes like her life depended on it. She didn’t even sound upset, finally her blood wasn’t boiling.

“A mistake?” She heard Andy repeat behind her. “Oh no. Diana, you were no mistake.”

“Yeah I was,” she twirled around to face him, bottom lip trembling and cheeks coated pink. “I know I was. It’s okay you, Andy, you don’t have to fight for—”

“— Listen to him Barbie, let him tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

Diana’s heated gaze landed on John, he was now standing beside her. She followed him, his own eyes landing on Andy’s. They shared a nod, Diana pouted.

“I need to know, okay.”

“Don’t you want to have this conversation in private, darling?” Nick motioned to the door, beckoning Roger to follow.

“No, no I’m good. You can stay if you want. If you can picture Mum gettin’ _drilled_ into a _car_ and all.” Her voice was taught, she waved herself off in a silent apology.

Taking a seat, she opted to sit before Simon and John at one end of the sofas. Andy was beside her, holding her hand. She didn’t care as to what John or Simon made of that, John especially.

“What is it, Andy?” The front man finally spoke, still a little in shock it seemed.

“You sure JT?” Andy prompted him a final time.

John inhaled. Exhaled. It was shaky, it was stabling. “I’m sure. Baby, you may have been a… you know, a uh,”

“Ripped condom?”  
  


John blinked. “That, yes. But that… oh fuck, Simon,” the bassist turned so they were now knee to knee, “I have something to tell you.”

Simon’s beady blues widened, his frosty gaze landing on John. John shivered beside him, clearly struggling with what he had to say. Thankfully, Andy picked up on what John was trying to put down.

“You _were_ wanted, Diana.”

Andy’s words startled them all. John’s head snapped to him, comically fast.

“I know that because… John?” He held out his free hand, beckoning the bassist to take control of the story.

John blinked back a tear. He got there. “Baby… Right before uh, _shit_ ,” he let a tear slip. “Nick’s wedding… I, you know I,” Simon’s gaze was hot on John’s form; even Diana hadn’t seen him like this. So lost, feeling so lost and under scrutiny all at once.

“He came to me, to see me and my wife. The night before Nick’s wedding.” Andy finished for John, who was whimpering before his daughter, not wanting her to see him this way.

“John?” Simon prompted.

“Diana, look at me.” She turned to face the guitarist, tears clouding her vision. “John told me, though we all know your Mother’s a slow fuck at times!” The moment broke, she couldn’t help but snort. “John told me that he was finally startin’ to come around. He, blimey, he wanted you. He had never wanted a family, till then.”

“John?” Simon’s voice was barely audible, Diana snapped her head to him.

Another solemn tear ran down John’s cheek, he swatted it away with force.

“That’s not all, Diana.” Andy continued, holding her tight in fear she may just bawl and crumble. “Before Nick’s wedding reception, I wasn’t there at the wedding, I had to come late in case of Tracey goin’ into labor. I caught John outside of his suite. Again, he told me those words he had never admitted to no one, what he didn’t know he wanted so badly.”

“ _I wanna have Simon Le Bon’s baby._ ”

All five of them had bewildered eyes, all five of them couldn’t believe what had been said. John’s gaze was bleary, his voice had been so small… yet there was a conviction in there no man could deny. Diana couldn’t either. Slowly, she raised her gaze to meet John; unphased when he dropped his own back to his lap. Her eyes landed on Simon instead, evident that he had no idea.  
  


“You, Dad,” Simon met her teary eyes with his own watery gaze. “You _didn’t_ know that, did you?”

Simon shook his head, hesitant, in shock. It hurt Diana to watch. “He knew I wanted kids… you never wanted any of your own, Johnny.”

John just sat there, frozen.

“You never wanted to be tied down.” Simon continued, the group knowing that really was the couple’s reason for their downfall, decades ago.

“Diana,” Roger spoke, coaxing her out of her daydream. “There’s something you should know.”

Her heated gaze fell to the drummer, hands gripping the back of the sofa as Roger towered over them.

“When John found out about you, he told me very soon after. I said that he had never wanted a child. He was adamant, he was... _forceful_ that it was because—”

“— I _didn’t_ have one. Now…” the bassist was trembling over his words. “Now I’m going to _have_ one.”

Diana’s gaze landed back on John, as he recalled that night in the Gloucester pub. When Roger dropped his cigarette into his pint over John’s words; when all John could do was convince himself that he was going to do this, he was going to keep his baby.

Nick didn’t say anything. Or maybe they did, Diana didn’t hear him. All that she could cling too were the soft sobs from John before her. It was more than clear: Andy wasn’t lying to her. Neither was Roger.

The guitarist hadn’t, when he had accidentally let slip that he had seen them back on the _Arena_ set. Simon strapping John back down atop of the Volvo, John whining for more. Andy had caught them and then stepped away, he had told her how foolish her parents must have been; how careless to think that they were alone. Though all things considered, Andy had seen it as no surprise. Be it in ’84 or now. Diana knew that, now she had to believe it.

  
“Diana, listen.” This time it was Simon speaking. He was hesitant, unable to focus his gaze on her. “On your Mother’s birthday, 1985,” she watched the shaky glance aimed at John, gulping audibly. “That was... Christ, the first time I really got to you. Got to talk to you, to feel you. You knew I was your father, you were kicking like mad.”

John didn’t say a word. The blank expression telling her that he was reliving it, whatever this was; John was haunted by that memory. Or, wallowing in it.

“That was the first time, Di, I... I really felt like...”

“You were going to be a father.” 

Finally, Simon met her gaze. He nodded once, if Diana blinked she would’ve missed it.

She hadn’t a clue how long they had been sat in silence. Thankfully, neither John nor Simon had tried to hug her; neither man could explain. She guessed that she couldn’t judge them for how it had happened, she had known for years that she had been a mistake.

To be _wanted,_ now that was something she was unsure she could feel.

“You…” she croaked, falling back into Andy’s supportive grip. “Mum, you _wanted_ … me?”

John nodded, over and over. Stupidly.

“And you never told…” she drifted off, signalling to Simon.

John nodded again, less enthusiastic than before.

“ _Wow_.” Was all that could drop off of her lips, she was truly astonished.

“You know what,” this time it was Roger’s hand on her back, helping her to keep from crying. “I think we should give you both a minute.”

“Yeah, Diana darling, do you want to look through Tatji’s new polaroids?” Nick posed, trying to shake her out of her daze.

Diana nodded as Andy helped her to standing. She was feeling queasy, head a jumble. She couldn’t quite muster up the courage to turn back to Simon or John. The bassist’s soft cries behind her told her that the two had much to discuss. John had to confess, though somehow he had managed to keep quiet for eighteen years.

At the door, Diana let slip a single, melancholy tear. Nick was there, right where she needed him to be, brandishing a tissue from his sparkly sleeve. The three of them left the studio behind, both Roger and Andy having a hand on her to keep her walking, and Nick keeping her focused.

“Wait, I left my coat.” She uttered with a small shiver, breaking free from their hold. “I’ll be right back.”

Diana began a slow strut back to the studio, unsure whether she would be able to walk back in, yank her coat from the heap on the chair beside where John had been sat. As she approached the half drawn blinds, she found herself pausing right before the door. Ajar, she peered through the small crack.

When they had all left the room, Diana peered back in to watch as John sent a watery glance to Simon beside him. He was in shock, rocking slightly. As though the past eighteen years were rushing up to him, to slap him in the face.

When he found the courage, all John could simply say was “I’m _sorry,_ Charley.” But what was he apologising for? Diana didn’t know and it was clear that John himself had no idea. He had no time to think either as the hand in his hair bought him forward, as Simon’s lips sealed on his ever so desperate.

It was a desperation John hadn’t felt, craved, from Simon in near two decades. The singer’s hands were tugging him down, John’s own pressing into Simon’s chest. They parted with shaky breaths, unable to drop their gazes. Both in shock of what they had just done.

Diana inhaled sharply, the kiss tattooing itself into her memory. She found herself blinking back another wave of tears, deciding that she didn’t need her coat after all. She couldn’t deal with that right now, she didn’t need too. Pretending that it had never happened seemed the easiest option, Diana bid the recording studio farewell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s the end! Happy Halloween, everyone! Many Thanks for reading, you all know it means the world to me. I should also point out that I’m sorry for clogging the fic tag this month, hogging it so. But then again, I think it’s been worth it.
> 
> I hope to post Some New Romantic Elvis updates and have the finished fic (can you believe I finished it over a week ago?!) by December. I think it’s about time that I give this AU some breathing space, I’d finally like to try and get to my Le Bon(d) story... though I have multiple fics on the go as always! ♥️

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @duranarchy-in-the-uk 💖


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